LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Kil iani 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE    COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


THE    LADY    CAVE    A    PIERCING    CRY. 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE 


LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

(LE  LYS  DANS  LA  VALLEE) 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


TRANSLATED    BY 


JAMES    WARING 


WITH   A   PREFACE   BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  GEBBIE  PUBLISHING  Co.,  Ltd. 
1898 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

PREFACE ix 

THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY I 

ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN 304 

THE    GREAT  BRETECHE 347 

A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS 371 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  LADY  GAVE  A  PIERCING  CRY  ....  Frontispiece 


HE  STARTED  UP,   THREW  THE   TABLE    OVER   ME  AND    THE    LAMP 

ON  THE  GROUND 67 


I   RAISED  THE  POOR  WOMAN   IN   MY  ARMS 122 

MADELEINE,  JACQUES,  AND    THE  ABBE    DE    DOMINIS  ALL    KNEEL- 
ING AT  THE  FOOT  OF  A  WOODEN  CROSS  ....      263 

"WHEN  ARE  YOU  TO   MARRY  THE  DUKE?"  ....      317 

Drawn  6y  D.  Murray-Smith. 


PREFACE. 

LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY"  ("Le  Lys  dans  la  Vallee") 
has  considerable  importance  in  the  history  of  Balzac's  books, 
and  not  a  little  in  that  of  his  life,  independently  of  its  intrinsic 
merit.  It  brought  on  a  lawsuit  between  him  and  the  "Revue de 
Paris,"  in  which  the  greater  part  of  it  was  published,  and  in 
which  he  refused  to  complete  it.  As  the  actual  suit  was  decided 
in  his  favor,  his  legal  justification  is  not  matter  of  dispute,  and 
his  adversaries  put  themselves  hopelessly  in  the  wrong  by  re- 
viewing the  termination  of  the  book,  when  it  appeared  else- 
where, in  a  strain  of  virulent  but  clumsy  ridicule.  As  to 
where  the  right  or  wrong  lay,  independent  of  questions  of  pure 
law  on  one  side  and  pure  taste  on  the  other,  it  is  not  so  easy 
to  come  to  any  conclusion.  Balzac  published  an  elaborate 
justification  of  his  own  conduct,  which  does  not  now  appear 
with  the  book,  but  may  be  found,  by  any  one  who  is  curious, 
among  the  rejected  prefaces  which  fill  a  large  part  of  the  twenty- 
second  volume  (the  third  of  the  "  CEuvres  Diverses")  of  his 
Works.  It  is  exceedingly  long,  not  by  any  means  temperate, 
and  so  confused  that  it  is  difficult  to  make  head  or  tail  of  it. 
What  is  clear  is  that  the  parties  went  on  the  dangerous  and 
unsatisfactory  plan  of  neither  complete  performance  of  the 
work  before  payment  nor  complete  payment  beforehand,  but 
of  a  per  contra  account,  the  author  drawing  money  as  he 
wanted  it,  and  sending  in  copy  as  he  could  or  chose.  Balzac 
seems  to  allow  that  he  got  into  arrears,  contending  that  if  he 
paid  those  arrears  the  rest  of  the  work  was  his  own  property. 
But  there  were  complicating  disagreements  in  reference  to  a 
simultaneous  publication  at  St.  Petersburg;  and,  on  the 
whole,  we  may  fairly  conclude  in  the  not  very  original  terms 
of  "faults  on  both  sides."  The  affair,  however,  evidently 


x  PREFACE. 

gave  him  much  annoyance,  and  seems  to  have  brought  him 
into  some  discredit. 

The  other  point  of  personal  interest  is  that  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  is  very  generally  said  to  represent  Madame  de  Berny, 
his  early  friend  and  his  first  instructress  in  aristocratic  ways. 
Although  there  are  strong  expressions  of  affection  in  his  letters 
with  regard  to  this  lady,  who  died  early  in  his  career,  they  do 
not  definitely  indicate  what  is  commonly  called  love.  But 
the  whole  scenery  and  atmosphere  of  "  The  Lily  of  the 
Valley"  ("  Le  Lys  dans  la  Vallee  ")  are  those  of  his  own  early 
haunts.  Frapesle,  which  is  so  often  mentioned,  was  the  home 
of  another  platonic  friend,  Madame  Zulma  Carraud,  and  there 
is  much  in  the  early  experiences  of  Felix  de  Vandenesse 
which  has  nearly  as  personal  a  touch  as  that  of  "  Louis  Lam- 
bert" itself. 

Dismissing  this,  we  may  come  to  the  book  itself.  Balzac 
took  so  much  interest  in  it — indeed,  the  personal  throb  may 
be  felt  throughout — that  he  departed  (according  to  his  own 
account,  for  the  second  time  only)  from  his  rule  of  not  an- 
swering criticism.  This  was  in  regard  to  a  very  remarkable 
article  of  M.  Hippolyte  Castilles  (to  be  found  in  M.  de 
Lovenjoul's  invaluable  bibliography,  as  is  the  answering  letter 
in  the  "  CEuvres  Diverses  "  *)  reflecting  upon  the  rather  pagan 
and  materialist  "resurrection  of  the  flesh"  in  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  on  her  death-bed.  His  plea  that  it  was  the  disease, 
not  the  person,  though  possessing  a  good  deal  of  physiological 
force,  is  psychologically  rather  weak,  and  might  have  been 
made  much  stronger.  Indeed,  this  scene,  though  shocking 
and  disconcerting  to  weak  brethren,  is  not  merely  the 
strongest  in  the  novel,  but  one  of  the  strongest  in  Balzac's 
works.  There  is  farther  to  be  noted  in  the  book  a  quaint  de- 
lineation, in  the  personage  of  M.  de  Mortsauf,  of  a  kind  of 
conjugal  torment  which,  as  a  rule,  is  rather  borne  by  husbands 
at  the  hands  of  wives  than  vice  versa.  The  behavior  of  the 

*  Sundry  Works. 


PREFACE.  xi 

"lily's"  husband,  sudden  rages  and  all,  is  exactly  that  of  a 
shrewish  and  valetudinarian  woman. 

This,  however,  and  some  minor  matters,  may  be  left  to  the 
reader  to  find  out  and  appreciate.  The  most  interesting 
point,  and  the  most  debatable,  is  the  character  of  the 
heroine  with,  in  a  lesser  degree,  that  of  the  hero.  Of  M. 
Felix  de  Vandenesse  it  is  not  necessary  to  say  very  much,  be- 
cause that  capital  letter  from  Madame  de  Manerville  (one  of 
the  very  best  things  that  Balzac  ever  wrote,  and  exhibiting  a 
sharpness  and  precision  of  mere  writing  which  he  too  fre- 
quently lacked)  does  fair,  though  not  complete,  justice  on  the 
young  man.  The  lady,  who  was  not  a  model  of  excellence 
herself,  perhaps  did  not  perceive — for  it  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  in  her  nature  to  conceal  it  through  kindness — that 
he  was  not  only  as  she  tells  him,  wanting  in  tact,  but  also 
wanting,  and  that  execrably,  in  taste.  M.  de  Vandenesse,  I 
think,  ranks  in  Balzac's  list  of  good  heroes ;  at  any  rate  he 
saves  him  later  from  a  fate  which  he  rather  richly  deserves, 
and  introduces  him  honorably  in  other  places.  But  he  was 
not  a  nice  young  man.  His  "pawing"  and  timid  advances 
on  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  his  effusive  "kissing and  telling  " 
in  reference  to  Lady  Dudley,  both  smack  of  the  worst  sides 
of  Rousseau  :  they  deserve  not  so  much  moral  reprehension  as 
physical  kicking.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf 
turned  a  cold  shoulder  on  him ;  and  it  is  an  addition  to  his 
demerits  that  he  seems  to  have  thought  her  unjust  in  doing  so. 

As  for  the  "lily"  we  come  once  more  to  one  of  those  in- 
eradicable differences  between  French  and  English  taste — one 
of  those  moral  fosses  not  to  be  filled  which  answer  to  the 
physical  Channel.  I  have  said  that  I  do  not  think  the  last 
scene  unnatural  or  even  repulsive:  it  is  pretty  true  and  rather 
terrible,  and  where  truth  and  terror  are  there  is  seldom  dis- 
gust. But,  elsewhere,  for  all  her  technical  purity,  her  shud- 
derings,  and  the  rest  of  it,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  without 
insular  narrowness  or  prudery,  one  may  find  Madame  de 


xii  PREFACE. 

Mortsauf  a  little  rancid,  a  little  like  stale  cold-cream  of  roses. 
And  if  it  is  insular  narrowness  and  prudery  so  to  find  her,  let 
us  thank  God  for  the  narrowness  which  yet  leaves  room  for 
Cleopatra,  for  Beatrix  Esmond,  and  for  Becky  Sharp.  I  should 
myself  have  thought  Madame  de  Mortsauf  a  person  of  bad 
taste  in  caring  at  all  for  such  a  creature  as  Felix.  But  if  she 
did  care,  I  should  have  thought  better  of  her  for  pitching  her 
cap  over  the  very  highest  mill  in  her  care  for  him,  than  for 
this  fullsome  hankering,  this  "I  would,  but  dare  not,"  pla- 
tonism.  Still,  others  may  think  differently,  and  that  the 
book  is  a  very  powerful  book  they  cannot  hold  more  distinctly 
than  I  do. 

Some  bibliographical  details  about  Le  Lys  (The  Lily)  have 
been  anticipated  above.  It  need  only  be  added  that  the  ap- 
pearances in  the  "  Revue  de  Paris"  were  in  the  numbers  for 
November  and  December,  1835,  and  that  the  book  was  pub- 
lished by  Werdet  in  June  of  next  year.  The  date  of  the 
"Envoi"  (afterward  removed),  August  8,  1827,  may  have 
some  biographical  interest.  Charpentier  republished  the  book 
in  a  slightly  different  form  in  1839,  and,  five  years  later,  it  was 
installed  in  the  "  Comedie." 

The  stories  of  the  "Autre  Etude  "*  (other  study)  are  called 
in  the  Repertoire  of  MM.  Christophe  and  Cerfberr  "  D'Ex- 
quises  Causeries"  ("Choice  Chit-chats").  .  It  is  not  certain 
that  all  readers  will  acquiesce  in  this  epithet,  which  is  used 
several  times  in  the  piece  by  Balzac  himself,  though  I  do  not 
remember  that  the  combination  of  it  with  causeric  is  textual. 
In  the  first  place,  the  discourses  of  Marsay  and  Blondet  might 
be  called  by  unfriendly  critics  rather  sermons  than  causeries 
(chats).  In  the  second,  though  Marsay  is  rather  less  of  a 
"tiger"  than  in  some  of  his  other  performances,  the  cox- 
combry of  the  exhibition  exceeds  its  charm,  while  Blondet's 
discussion  of  womankind  has  the  unreality  of  all  these  dis- 
cussions. Montriveau's  story  is  considerably  better  than 

*"A  Study  of  Woman"  is  in  vol.  of  "  Wild  Ass'  Skin." 


PREFACE.  xiii 

either  of  these;    and  it  leads  up  very  well  to  "La  Grande 
Breteche." 

This  latter  is  one  of  the  best  known  of  Balzac's  short  stories, 
and  may  rank  among  the  half-dozen  best  of  all.  Contrary  to 
a  habit  which,  though  not  invariable,  is  too  common  with 
him,  he  is  not  long  in  "getting  under  way,"  and  he  does  not 
waste  a  single  stroke  in  drawing  the  actual  catastrophe. 
Bianchon,  who  generally  has  a  good  part  assigned  him,  is  here 
unusually  lucky.  Indeed,  the  piece  is  so  short  and  so  good 
that  critical  dwelling  on  it  is  almost  an  impertinence. 

"A  Man  of  Business  "  ("  Un  Homme  d' Affaires  "),  in  the 
eyes  of  some  readers,  does  not  stand  very  high.  La  Palferine 
reappears,  and  that  more  exalted  La  Palferine  Maxime  de 
Trailles,  "Balzac's  pet  scoundrel,"  as  some  one  has  called 
him,  though  not  present,  is  the  hero  of  the  tale,  which  is 
artificial  and  slight  enough. 

G.  S. 

Note. — It  may  be  barely  necessary  for  me  to  protect  myself  and  the 
translator  from  a  possible  charge  of  mistaking  Lilium  candidum  for  Con- 
-•allaria  majalis.  The  French  for  our  «'  lily-of-the-valley  "  is,  of  course, 
tnuguet.  But  "  Lily  in  the  Valley  "  would  inevitably  sound  in  English 
like  a  worse  mistake  or  a  tasteless  variation  on  a  consecrated  phrase.  And 
"  Lily  of  the  Valley  "  meets  the  real  sense  well. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY. 

To  Monsieur  J.  B.  Nacquart, 
Member  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  Medicine. 

Dear  Doctor : — Here  is  one  of  the  most  highly  wrought 
stones  of  the  second  story  of  a  literary  edifice  that  is 
being  slowly  and  laboriously  constructed ;  I  wish  to  set 
your  name  here,  as  much  to  thank  the  physician  who 
once  saved  my  life  as  to  do  honor  to  the  friend  of 
every  day.  DE  BALZAC. 

To  Madame  la  Comtesse  Natalie  de  Mancrville. 

"  I  YIELD  to  your  wish.  It  is  the  privilege  of  the  woman 
whom  we  love  more  than  she  loves  us  that  she  can  at  any 
moment  make  us  forget  the  laws  of  good  sense.  To  spare 
ourselves  the  sight  of  a  wrinkle  on  your  brow,  to  dissipate  a 
pout  on  your  lips — which  so  small  a  contradiction  saddens — 
we  work  miracles  to  annihilate  distance,  we  give  our  blood,  we 
mortgage  the  future. 

"  You,  to-day,  want  my  past :  here  it  is.  But  understand 
this,  Natalie :  to  obey  you  I  have  had  to  trample  under  foot 
a  repugnance  I  never  before  have  conquered.  Why  must 
you  be  suspicious  of  the  long  and  sudden  reveries  which  come 
over  me  when  I  am  happiest  ?  Why  show  the  pretty  tempers 
of  a  woman  beloved  because  I  fall  silent  ?  Could  you  not 
play  with  the  contrasts  of  my  nature  without  knowing  their 
causes  ?  Have  you  in  your  heart  secrets  which  must  have  mine 
to  gain  absolution  ? 

"Well,  you  have  guessed  rightly,  Natalie,  and  it  is  better 

(1) 


2  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

perhaps  that  you  should  know  everything:  yes,  my  life  is 
overshadowed  by  a  phantom ;  it  asserts  itself  vaguely  at  the 
least  word  that  evokes  it ;  it  often  hovers  over  me  unbidden. 
I  have,  buried  within  my  soul,  astounding  memories,  like 
those  marine  growths  which  may  be  seen  in  calm  waters  and 
which  the  surges  of  the  storm  fling  in  fragments  on  the 
shore. 

"Though  the  travail  needed  for  the  utterance  of  ideas  has 
controlled  the  old  emotions  which  hurt  me  so  much  when 
they  are  suddenly  aroused,  if  there  should  be  in  this  confes- 
sion any  outbreaks  that  offend  you,  remember  that  you  threat- 
ened me  in  case  of  disobedience,  and  do  not  punish  me  for 
having  obliged  you. 

"  I  only  wish  my  confidence  might  increase  your  tenderness 
twofold. 

"Till  this  evening.  FELIX." 

To  what  genius  fed  on  tears  may  we  some  day  owe  the 
most  touching  elegy — the  picture  of  the  tortures  suffered  in 
silence  by  souls  whose  roots,  while  still  tender,  find  nothing 
but  hard  pebbles  in  the  soil  of  home,  whose  earliest  blossoms 
are  rent  by  the  hands  of  hate,  whose  flowers  are  frost-bitten 
as  soon  as  they  open  ?  What  poet  will  tell  of  the  sorrows  of 
the  child  whose  lips  suck  the  milk  of  bitterness,  whose  smiles 
are  checked  by  the  scorching  fire  of  a  stern  eye?  The  fiction 
that  should  depict  these  poor  crushed  hearts,  down-trodden 
by  those  who  are  placed  about  them  to  encourage  the  devel- 
opment of  their  feelings,  would  be  the  true  story  of  my 
childhood. 

What  vanities  could  I,  a  new-born  babe,  have  fretted? 
What  moral  or  physical  deformity  earned  me  my  mother's 
coldness  ?  Was  I  the  offspring  of  duty,  a  child  whose  birth 
is  fortuitous,  or  one  whose  existence  is  a  standing  reproach  ? 

Sent  to  be  nursed  in  the  country  and  forgotten  by  my 
parents  for  three  years,  when  I  returned  to  my  father's  house 


THE  LJLY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  3 

I  counted  for  so  little  that  I  had  to  endure  the  pity  of  the 
servants.  I  know  not  to  what  feeling  nor  to  what  happy 
chance  I  owed  it  that  I  was  able  to  rally  after  this  first  disas- 
ter;  as  a  child  I  did  not  understand,  and  as  a  man  I  do  not 
know.  My  brother  and  my  two  sisters,  far  from  mitigating 
my  fate,  amused  themselves  by  tormenting  me.  The  mutual 
compact,  in  virtue  of  which  children  hide  each  other's  pec- 
cadilloes and  learn  an  infant  code  of  honor,  was  null  and 
void  as  regarded  me ;  nay  more,  I  often  found  myself  in  dis- 
grace for  my  brother's  misdeeds,  with  no  power  of  appeal 
against  the  injustice ;  was  it  that  insidious  self-interest,  of 
which  a  germ  exists  even  in  children,  prompted  them  to  add 
to  the  persecution  that  weighed  on  me,  so  as  to  win  the  good 
graces  of  the  mother  whom  they  feared  no  less  ?  Was  it  the 
result  of  their  imitative  instinct  ?  Was  it  a  desire  to  try 
their  power,  or  a  lack  of  fellow-feeling?  All  these  causes 
combined  perhaps  to  deprive  me  of  the  comfort  of  brotherly 
kindness.  Cut  off  already  from  all  affection,  I  could  love 
nothing,  and  nature  had  made  me  loving  !  Is  there  an  angel 
who  collects  the  sighs  of  such  ever-repressed  feeling?  If 
misprized  sentiments  turn  to  hatred  in  some  souls,  in  mine 
they  became  concentrated,  and  wore  a  channel  from  whence 
at  a  later  date  they  gushed  into  my  life.  In  some  characters 
the  habit  of  shrinking  relaxes  every  fibre  and  gives  rise  to 
fear  ;  and  fear  reduces  us  to  perpetual  subjection.  Hence 
proceeds  a  weakness  which  debases  a  man  and  gives  him  an 
indescribable  taint  of  servility. 

But  this  constant  torment  gave  me  the  habit  of  exerting  a 
force  which  increased  with  exercise,  and  predisposed  my  soul 
to  moral  fortitude.  Always  on  the  lookout  for  some  new 
misery,  as  martyrs  expect  a  fresh  blow,  my  whole  being  must 
have  expressed  a  gloomy  dejection  which  stifled  all  the  graces 
and  impulses  of  childhood,  a  condition  which  was  regarded 
as  a  symptom  of  idiocy,  justifying  my  mother's  ominous 
prognostics.  A  sense  of  this  injustice  gave  rise  in  my  spirit 


4  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

to  a  premature  feeling  of  pride,  the  outcome  of  reason,  which, 
no  doubt,  was  a  check  on  the  evil  disposition  fostered  by  such 
a  manner  of  education. 

Though  completely  neglected  by  my  mother,  I  was  occa- 
sionally the  cause  of  some  scruples  in  her  mind  ;  she  some- 
times talked  of  my  learning  something,  and  expressed  a  pur- 
pose of  teaching  me;  then  I  shuddered  miserably  at  the 
thought  of  the  anguish  of  daily  contact  with  her.  I  blessed 
my  deserted  loneliness,  and  was  happy  in  being  left  in  the 
garden  to  play  with  pebbles,  watch  the  insects  and  gaze  at 
the  blue  sky. 

Though  isolation  made  me  dreamy,  my  love  of  meditation 
had  its  rise  in  an  incident  which  will  give  you  an  idea  of  my 
first  woes.  I  was  so  entirely  overlooked  that  the  governess 
often  forgot  to  put  me  to  bed.  One  evening,  peacefully  sit- 
ting under  a  fig  tree,  I  was  looking  at  a  star  with  the  pas- 
sionate curiosity  known  to  children,  to  which,  in  me,  preco- 
cious melancholy  gave  a  sort  of  sentimental  intuition.  My 
sisters  were  playing  and  shouting ;  I  heard  the  remote  clatter 
like  an  accompaniment  to  my  thoughts.  The  noise  presently 
ceased ;  night  fell.  By  chance  my  mother  then  noticed  my 
absence.  To  avert  a  scolding,  our  governess,  a  certain  ter- 
rible Mademoiselle  Caroline,  justified  my  mother's  affected 
fears  by  declaring  that  I  had  a  horror  of  home;  that  if  she 
had  not  watched  me  narrowly,  I  should  have  run  away  before 
then  ;  that  I  was  not  weak  of  intellect,  but  sly ;  that  of  all 
the  children  she  had  ever  had  care  of,  she  had  never  known 
one  whose  disposition  was  so  vile  as  mine. 

She  then  pretended  to  search  for  me,  and  called  me ;  I  re- 
plied ;  she  came  to  the  fig  tree  where  she  knew  that  I  was. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  was  looking  at  a  star." 

"You  were  not  looking  at  a  star,"  cried  my  mother,  who 
was  listening  from  her  balcony,  "as  if  a  child  of  your  age 
could  know  anything  of  astronomy  !  " 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  5 

"Oh,  madame,"  cried  Mademoiselle  Caroline,  "he  turned 
on  the  tap  of  the  cistern,  the  garden  is  flooded  !  " 

There  was  a  great  commotion.  My  sisters  had  amused 
themselves  with  turning  the  tap  to  see  the  water  flow ;  but 
startled  by  a  spurt  sideways  that  had  wetted  them  all  over, 
they  lost  their  heads,  and  fled  without  turning  the  water  off 
again.  Accused  and  convicted  of  having  devised  this  piece 
of  mischief,  and  of  lying  when  I  asserted  my  innocence,  I 
was  severely  punished.  But,  worst  of  all,  I  was  mocked  at  for 
my  love  of  star-gazing,  and  my  mother  forbade  my  staying  in 
the  garden  in  the  evening. 

Tyrannical  prohibitions  give  zest  to  a  passion,  even  more  in 
children  than  in  men  ;  children  have  the  advantage  of  thinking 
of  nothing  else  but  the  forbidden  thing,  which  then  becomes 
irresistibly  fascinating.  So  I  was  often  caned  for  my  star. 
Unable  to  confide  my  woes  to  any  human  being,  I  told  my 
griefs  to  the  star  in  that  exquisite  internal  warbling  by  which 
a  child  lisps  its  first  ideas  as  he  has  already  lisped  his  first 
words.  At  the  age  of  twelve,  a  boy  at  school,  I  still  contem- 
plated it  with  a  sense  of  unspeakable  rapture,  so  deep  are  the 
marks  set  on  the  heart  by  the  impressions  received  in  the  dawn 
of  life. 

My  brother  Charles,  five  years  my  senior,  was  not  less  hand- 
some as  a  child  than  he  is  as  a  man ;  he  was  my  father's 
favorite,  my  mother's  darling,  the  hope  of  the  family,  and 
consequently  the  king  of  the  household.  Well  made  and 
strong,  he  had  a  tutor.  I,  frail  and  sickly,  was  sent,  at  the 
age  of  five,  to  a  day-school  in  the  town,  whither  I  was  taken 
in  the  morning  by  my  father's  valet,  who  fetched  me  home  in 
the  afternoon.  I  took  my  midday  meal  in  a  basket  but  scantily 
filled,  while  my  comrades  brought  ample  supplies.  This  con- 
trast of  my  necessity  with  their  abundance  was  the  source  of 
much  suffering.  The  famous  rillettes  and  rillons  of  Tours  (a 
kind  of  sausage  meat)  formed  the  larger  part  of  our  midday 
luncheon,  between  breakfast  in  the  morning  and  late  dinner 


6  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

at  the  hour  of  our  return  home.  This  preparation,  highly 
prized  by  some  epicures,  is  rarely  seen  at  Tours  on  any  genteel 
table ;  though  I  may  have  heard  of  it  before  going  to  school, 
I  had  never  been  so  happy  as  to  see  the  brown  confection 
spread  on  a  slice  of  bread  for  my  own  eating  ;  but  even  if  it 
had  not  been  a  fashionable  dainty  at  school,  my  longing  for 
it  would  have  been  no  less  eager,  for  it  had  become  a  fixed 
idea  in  my  brain,  just  as  the  stews  concocted  by  her  porter's 
wife  inspired  a  longing  in  one  of  the  most  elegant  of  Paris 
duchesses,  who,  being  a  woman,  gratified  her  fancy. 

Children  can  read  such  a  longing  in  each  other's  eyes  just 
as  you  can  read  love :  thenceforth  I  was  a  standing  laughing- 
stock. My  school-fellows,  almost  all  of  the  storekeeper  class, 
would  come  to  display  their  excellent  rillettcs,  and  ask  me  if 
I  knew  how  they  were  made,  where  they  were  sold,  and  why 
I  had  none.  They  would  smack  their  lips  as  they  praised  their 
rillons,  fragments  of  pork  fried  in  their  own  fat  and  looking 
like  boiled  truffles  ;  they  took  stock  of  my  basket,  and,  finding 
only  Olivet  cheeses  or  dried  fruit,  struck  me  dumb  by  saying, 
"  Why,  you  have  nothing  at  all !  "  in  a  way  that  taught  me  to 
estimate  the  difference  made  between  my  brother  and  myself. 

This  comparison  of  my  own  misery  with  the  good  fortune 
of  others  dashed  the  roses  of  my  childhood  and  blighted  my 
blossoming  youth.  The  first  time  that  I,  taken  in  by  a  sem- 
blance of  generosity,  put  out  my  hand  to  take  the  longed-for 
treat  from  a  hypocrite  who  offered  it,  the  boy  snatched  it 
away,  raising  a  shout  of  laughter  among  the  others  who  were 
aware  of  the  practical  joke. 

If  the  loftiest  minds  are  accessible  to  vanity,  we  may  surely 
pardon  a  child  for  crying  when  he  finds  himself  despised  and 
made  game  of.  Treated  thus,  most  children  would  become 
greedy,  sneaking,  and  mean.  To  avoid  persecution,  I  fought 
my  foes  ;  the  courage  of  despair  made  me  formidable,  but  I 
was  detested,  and  remained  without  defense  against  treachery. 
One  evening,  as  I  left  school,  a  handkerchief,  tightly  rolled 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  7 

and  full  of  stones,  struck  me  on  the  back.  When  the  valet, 
who  avenged  me  amply,  told  my  mother  about  it,  she  only 
said — 

"  That  dreadful  child  will  never  be  anything  but  a  trouble 
to  us!" 

I  then  suffered  the  most  miserable  distrust  of  myself,  dis- 
cerning at  school  the  same  repulsion  as  was  felt  for  me  by  my 
family.  I  was  thrown  in  on  myself  at  school  and  at  home. 
A  second  fall  of  snow  checked  the  blossoming  of  the  germs 
sown  in  my  soul.  Those  who  were  loved  were,  I  saw,  sturdy 
rascals ;  with  this  I  comforted  my  pride,  and  I  dwelt  alone. 
Thus  there  was  no  end  to  the  impossibility  of  pouring  out  the 
feelings  which  swelled  my  poor  little  heart.  Seeing  me  always 
alone,  hated  and  dejected,  the  master  confirmed  my  parents' 
unjust  notions  as  to  my  evil  nature. 

As  soon  as  I  could  read  and  write,  my  mother  had  me  exiled 
to  Pont-le-Voy,  a  school  managed  by  Oratorians,  who  received 
children  of  my  age  into  a  class  designated  as  that  of  the  Pas 
latins  (Latin  steps),  which  also  included  scholars  whose  de- 
fective intelligence  had  precluded  the  rudiments.  There  I 
remained  for  eight  years,  seeing  no  one,  and  leading  the  life 
of  a  Pariah.  And  this  was  why:  I  had  but  three  francs  a 
month  for  pocket-money,  a  sum  which  barely  sufficed  for  the 
pens,  knives,  rulers,  ink  and  paper,  with  which  we  had  to 
provide  ourselves.  And  so,  being  unable  to  buy  stilts,  or 
ropes,  or  any  of  the  things  needed  for  school-boy  amusements, 
I  was  banished  from  every  game ;  to  gain  admittance  I  must 
either  have  toadied  the  rich  or  have  flattered  the  strong  boys 
in  my  division.  Now  the  least  idea  of  such  meanness,  which 
children  so  often  drift  into,  raised  my  gorge. 

I  used  to  sit  under  a  tree  reading  the  books  given  out  to  us 
once  a  month  by  the  librarian.  How  much  anguish  lay 
hidden  in  the  depths  of  this  unnatural  isolation,  what  misery 
this  desertion  caused  me  !  Imagine  what  my  tender  soul  must 
have  felt  when,  at  the  first  distribution  of  prizes,  I  was  awarded 


8  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

the  two  most  anxiously  looked  for — that  for  composition  and 
that  for  translation  !  When  I  went  up  to  the  platform  to 
receive  them,  in  the  midst  of  applause  and  cheers,  I  had 
neither  father  nor  mother  to  rejoice  with  me,  while  the  room 
was  full  of  my  comrades'  parents.  Instead  of  kissing  the  vis- 
itor who  distributed  the  prizes,  as  was  usual,  I  threw  myself  on 
his  breast  and  melted  into  tears.  In  the  evening  I  burnt  my 
laurel  crowns  in  the  stove.  The  other  boys'  parents  stayed  in 
the  town  during  the  week  of  examinations  preceding  the  prize- 
giving,  so  that  my  school-fellows  went  off  next  morning  in 
high  glee ;  while  I,  whose  parents  were  only  a  few  leagues 
away,  remained  at  school  with  the  "  Outre-mers "  (over  the 
seas),  a  name  given  to  boys  whose  families  lived  in  the  islands 
or  abroad.  In  the  evening,  while  prayers  were  read,  the  bar- 
barous little  wretches  would  boast  of  the  good  dinners  they 
had  had  at  home. 

You  will  see  that  my  misfortunes  went  on  growing  in  pro- 
portion to  the  circumference  of  the  social  spheres  in  which  I 
moved.  How  many  efforts  have  I  not  made  to  invalidate  the 
sentence  which  condemned  me  to  live  in  myself  alone  !  How 
many  hopes  long  cherished,  with  a  thousand  soul-felt  aspira- 
tions, have  been  destroyed  in  a  single  day !  To  induce  my 
parents  to  come  to  the  school,  I  wrote  them  letters  full  of  feel- 
ing, rather  emphatically  worded  perhaps — but  should  these 
letters  have  drawn  down  on  me  my  mother's  reproaches  and 
ironical  comments  on  my  style?  Still,  not  discouraged,  I 
promised  to  do  all  my  parents  insisted  on  as  the  conditions 
of  a  visit;  I  implored  my  sisters'  aid,  writing  to  them  on  their 
name-days  and  birthdays  with  the  punctuality  of  a  hapless, 
deserted  child — but  with  vain  persistency. 

As  the  day  for  prize-giving  approached,  I  made  my  en- 
treaties more  urgent,  and  wrote  of  my  hopes  of  success. 
Deceived  by  my  parents'  silence  I  expected  them  with 
exultant  hopes,  telling  my  school-fellows  that  they  were  com- 
ing; and  when,  as  family  parties  began  to  arrive,  the  old 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  9 

porter's  step  echoed  along  the  passages  I  felt  sick  with  antici- 
pation. But  the  old  man  never  uttered  ray  name. 

One  day  when  I  confessed  that  I  had  cursed  my  existence, 
the  priest  spoke  to  me  of  heaven,  where  the  palm  branch 
grows  that  the  Saviour  promised  to  the  Beati  qui  lugent.  So 
in  preparing  for  my  first  communion,  I  threw  myself  into  the 
mystic  gulf  of  prayer,  bewitched  by  religious  notions,  whose 
spiritual  fairy  dreams  enchant  the  youthful  mind.  Fired  with 
eager  faith  I  besought  God  to  renew  in  my  favor  the  fascina- 
ting miracles  of  which  I  read  in  the  history  of  martyrs.  At 
five  I  had  gone  forth  to  a  star ;  at  twelve  I  was  knocking  at 
the  door  of  the  sanctuary.  My  ecstasy  gave  rise  to  unutter- 
able dreams  which  supplied  my  imagination,  gave  fervor  to  my 
tenderness,  and  strengthened  my  thinking  powers.  I  often 
ascribed  these  sublime  visions  to  angels  charged  with  fashion- 
ing my  soul  to  divine  ends,  and  they  gave  my  eyes  the  power 
of  seeing  the  inmost  soul  of  things  ;  they  prepared  my  heart 
for  the  magic  which  makes  the  poet  wretched  when  he  has  the 
fatal  power  of  comparing  what  he  feels  with  what  exists,  the 
great  things  he  craves  after  with  what  he  obtains ;  they  wrote 
in  my  brain  a  book  in  which  I  have  read  what  I  was  required 
to  express  ;  they  touched  my  lips  with  the  fire  of  the  impro- 
visators. 

My  father  having  conceived  some  doubts  as  to  the  tendency 
of  the  Oratorian  teaching,  came  to  fetch  me  from  Pont-le- 
Voy,  and  placed  me  in  a  boarding-house  for  boys  in  Paris, 
situated  in  the  Marais.  I  was  now  fifteen.  On  examination 
as  to  my  acquirements,  the  pupil  from  Pont-le-Voy  was  judged 
capable  of  entering  the  third  class.  The  miseries  I  had  en- 
dured at  home,  at  day-school,  and  at  Pont-le-Voy  were  re- 
newed under  a  new  aspect  during  my  life  at  the  pension 
Lepitre.  My  father  gave  me  no  money.  When  my  parents 
had  ascertained  that  I  could  be  fed,  clothed,  crammed  with 
Latin  and  stuffed  with  Greek,  that  was  enough.  In,  the 
whole  course  of  my  career  at  school  and  college^  I  have 


10  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

known  perhaps  a  thousand  fellow-students,  and  I  never  heard 
of  a  case  of  such  utter  indifference. 

Monsieur  Lepitre,  a  fanatical  adherent  of  the  Bourbons, 
had  been  thrown  in  my  father's  way  at  the  time  when  some 
devoted  royalists  tried  to  rescue  Queen  Marie  Antoinette 
from  the  Temple ;  they  had  since  renewed  their  acquaintance. 
Hence  Monsieur  Lepitre  conceived  it  his  duty  to  remedy  my 
father's  oversight ;  but  the  sum  he  allowed  me  monthly  was 
small,  for  he  did  not  know  what  my  parents'  intentions 
might  be. 

M.  Lepitre  occupied  a  fine  old  house,  the  Hotel  Joyeuse, 
where,  as  in  all  the  ancient  residences  of  the  nobility,  there 
was  a  lodge  for  a  gate-porter.  During  the  hour  of  recreation, 
before  the  usher  took  us  in  a  file  to  the  Lyceum  of  Charle- 
magne, the  wealthy  boys  got  breakfast  at  the  lodge,  provided 
by  the  porter  named  Doisy.  Monsieur  Lepitre  either  knew 
nothing  of  Doisy  *s  business  or  he  winked  at  it.  The  man  was 
a  perfect  smuggler,  made  much  of  by  the  boys  in  their  own 
interest ;  he  was  the  screen  for  all  our  mischief,  our  confidant 
when  we  stole  in  after  hours,  our  go-between  with  the  lending 
library  for  prohibited  books.  Breakfast  with  a  cup  of  coffee 
was  in  the  most  aristocratic  taste,  in  consequence  of  the 
exorbitant  price  to  which  colonial  products  rose  under  Napo- 
leon. If  the  use  of  coffee  and  of  sugar  was  a  luxury  to  our 
parents,  in  us  it  was  a  sign  of  such  arrogant  superiority  as  was 
enough  to  give  us  a  passion  for  it,  if  the  tendency  to  imita- 
tion, greediness,  and  the  infection  of  fashion  had  not  been 
enough.  Doisy  gave  us  credit ;  he  supposed  that  every  school- 
boy must  have  sisters  or  aunts  who  would  uphold  his  honor 
and  pay  his  debts. 

For  a  long  time  I  resisted  the  blandishments  of  the  coffee- 
bar.  If  my  judges  could  have  known  the  force  of  tempta- 
tion, the  heroic  efforts  of  my  soul  to  attain  to  such  stoicism, 
and  the  suppressed  rages  of  my  long  resistance,  they  would 
have  dried  away  my  tears  instead  of  provoking  them  to  flow. 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  11 

But,  boy  as  I  was,  could  I  have  acquired  the  magnanimity 
which  leads  us  to  scorn  the  scorn  of  others  ?  And  I  was  also 
feeling,  perhaps,  the  temptations  of  various  social  vices  whose 
power  was  increased  by  my  longing. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  year  my  father  and  mother  came 
to  Paris.  The  day  of  their  arrival  was  announced  to  me  by 
my  brother ;  he  was  living  in  Paris,  but  had  not  paid  me  a 
single  visit.  My  sisters  were  to  come,  too,  and  we  were  all  to 
see  Paris  together.  The  first  day  we  were  to  dine  at  the 
Palais- Royal  to  be  close  to  the  Theatre  Fran^ais.  In  spite  of 
the  intoxicating  delight  of  such  a  programme  of  unhoped-for 
joys,  my  glee  was  mitigated  by  the  sense  of  a  coming  storm, 
which  so  easily  blights  those  who  are  inured  to  troubles.  I 
had  to  confess  a  debt  of  a  hundred  francs  to  the  Sieur  Doisy, 
who  threatened  to  apply  to  my  parents  for  the  money.  I 
determined  to  make  use  of  my  brother  as  Doisy's  dragoman, 
to  plead  my  repentance  and  mediate  for  forgiveness.  My 
father  was  in  favor  of  mercy  ;  but  my  mother  was  relentless  ; 
her  dark-blue  eye  petrified  me,  and  she  fulminated  terrible 
forecasts. 

"If  I  allowed  myself  such  licenses  at  seventeen,  what 
should  I  become  later  ?  Could  I  be  a  son  of  hers  ?  Did  I 
want  to  ruin  the  family  ?  Was  I  the  only  child  to  be  thought 
of?  The  career  on  which  my  brother  Charles  had  embarked 
required  an  independent  income,  and  he  deserved  it,  for  he 
had  already  done  the  family  credit,  while  I  should  disgrace  it. 
Did  I  know  nothing  of  the  value  of  the  money  I  cost  them? 
What  benefit  to  my  education  would  come  of  coffee  and 
sugar?  Was  not  such  conduct  an  apprenticeship  to  every 
vice?"  Marat  was  an  angel  as  compared  with  me,  so  it 
seemed  to  me. 

After  enduring  the  shock  of  this  torrent,  which  filled  my 
soul  with  terrors,  my  brother  took  me  back  to  the  boarding- 
house,  I  lost  my  dinner  at  the  caf6  of  the  "  Three  Provencal 
Brothers,"  and  was  deprived  of  seeing  Talma  in  "  Britan- 


12  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

nicus."     This  was  my  interview  with  my  mother  after  a  part- 
ing of  twelve  years. 

When  I  had  gone  through  the  "humanities,"  my  father 
still  left  me  in  the  care  of  Monsieur  Lepitre.  I  was  to  study 
higher  mathematics,  to  work  at  law  for  a  year,  and  begin  the 
advanced  branches. 

Now,  as  a  private  boarder,  and  free  from  attending  classes, 
I  hoped  for  a  truce  between  misery  and  me.  But  notwith- 
standing that  I  was  now  nineteen — or  perhaps  because  I  was 
nineteen — my  father  continued  the  system  which  had  of  old 
sent  me  to  school  without  sufficient  food,  to  college  without 
pocket-money,  and  had  run  me  into  debt  to  Doisy.  I  had 
very  little  money  at  command,  and  what  can  be  done  in  Paris 
without  money?  My  liberty,  too,  was  ingeniously  fettered. 
Monsieur  Lepitre  always  sent  me  to  the  law-schools  with  an 
usher  at  my  heels,  who  handed  me  over  to  the  professor,  and 
came  again  to  escort  me  back.  A  girl  would  have  been 
watched  with  less  care  than  my  mother's  fears  devised  for  my 
protection.  Paris  had  justifiable  terrors  for  my  parents. 
Students  are  secretly  interested  in  the  self-same  thoughts  as 
fill  the  heads  of  school-girls ;  do  what  you  will,  a  girl  always 
talks  of  lovers,  a  youth  of  women. 

But  in  Paris  at  that  time  the  conversation  of  fellow-students 
was  tinged  by  the  Oriental  and  Sultan-like  world  of  the 
Palais-Royal.  The  Palais-Royal  was  an  Eldorado  of  love 
where  ingots  ready  coined  were  current  every  evening.  Vir- 
gin doubts  were  there  enlightened,  and  there  our  curiosity 
might  find  gratification.  The  Palais-Royal  and  I  were  asymp- 
totes, ever  tending  to  meet,  but  never  meeting. 

This  is  how  fate  thwarted  my  hopes.  My  father  had  intro- 
duced me  to  one  of  my  aunts,  who  lived  in  the  He  Saint- 
Louis,  and  I  was  to  dine  there  every  Thursday  and  Sunday, 
escorted  thither  by  Madame  or  Monsieur  Lepitre,  who  went 
out  themselves  on  those  days,  and  called  for  me  on  their  way 
home  in  the  evening.  A  singular  form  of  recreation  !  The 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    GALLEY.  13 

Marquise  de  Listomere  was  a  very  ceremonious  fine  lady,  to 
whom  it  never  occurred  to  make  me  a  present  of  a  crown- 
piece.  As  old  as  a  cathedral,  as  much  painted  as  a  miniature, 
and  magnificently  dressed,  she  lived  in  her  mansion  just  as 
though  Louis  XV.  were  still  alive,  seeing  none  but  old  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  a  company  of  fossils  among  whom  I  felt  as 
if  I  were  in  a  cemetery.  No  one  ever  spoke  to  me,  and  I 
had  not  the  courage  to  speak  first.  Cold  looks  of  aversion 
made  me  feel  ashamed  of  my  youth,  which  was  so  annoying 
to  all  the  others. 

I  hoped  for  the  success  of  an  escapade  based  on  their 
indifference,  making  up  my  mind  to  steal  off  one  evening 
directly  after  dinner  and  fly  to  the  wooden  galleries.  My 
aunt,  when  once  she  was  absorbed  in  whist,  paid  no  further 
heed  to  me.  Jean,  her  manservant,  cared  little  enough  for 
Monsieur  Lepitre;  but  those  ill-starred  dinners  were,  un- 
fortunately, lengthy  in  consequence  of  the  antiquity  of 
the  jaws  or  the  weakness  of  the  teeth  of  that  ancient  com- 
pany. 

At  last,  one  evening  between  eight  and  nine,  I  had  reached 
as  far  as  the  stairs,  as  tremulous  as  Bianca  Capello  when  she 
made  her  escape  ;  but  just  as  the  porter  had  let  me  out,  I 
saw  Monsieur  Lepitre's  cab  in  the  street,  and  the  worthy  man 
asking  for  me  in  his  wheezy  tones.  Three  times  did  fate 
come  between  the  hell  of  the  Palais-Royal  and  the  paradise 
of  my  youth.  On  the  day  when,  ashamed  of  being  so  igno- 
rant, and  already  twenty,  I  determined  to  defy  every  peril  to 
gain  my  end — at  the  very  moment  when  I  was  about  to  evade 
Monsieur  Lepitre  as  he  got  into  a  hackney  coach  (a  difficult 
matter,  for  he  had  a  club-foot,  and  was  as  stout  as  Louis 
XVIII.) — who  should  appear  but  my  mother,  arriving  in  a 
post-chaise.  I  was  riveted  by  her  eye,  and  stood  like  a  bird 
fascinated  by  a  serpent. 

What  chance  had  led  to  this  meeting  ?  Nothing  could  be 
simpler.  Napoleon  was  making  a  last  effort.  My  father, 


14  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

foreseeing  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  had  come  to  explain 
matters  to  my  brother,  who  was  already  embarked  in  diplo- 
macy under  the  imperial  rule.  He  had  come  from  Tours 
with  my  mother.  My  mother  had  undertaken  to  convey  me 
home,  to  remove  me  from  the  dangers  which,  to  those  who 
were  keen  enough  to  follow  the  advance  of  the  enemy,  seemed 
to  threaten  the  capital. 

Thus,  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  snatched  from  Paris,  just  as 
my  residence  there  would  have  proved  fateful. 

The  torments  of  an  imagination  for  ever  agitated  by 
thwarted  desires,  and  the  weariness  of  a  life  saddened  by 
constant  privations,  had  thrown  me  into  study,  just  as  in 
former  times  men  weary  of  life  shut  themselves  up  in  cloisters. 
Study  had  become  a  passion  with  me,  which  might  have 
blighted  me  utterly  by  imprisoning  me  at  an  age  when  young 
men  ought  to  be  free  to  enjoy  the  activities  of  their  natural 
springtime. 

This  slight  sketch  of  my  early  years,  in  which  you  can 
imagine  much  sadness,  was  necessary  to  give  you  some  idea 
of  the  effect  of  that  training  on  my  later  life.  Bearing  the 
stamp  of  so  many  adverse  influences,  at  the  age  of  twenty  I 
was  stunted,  thin,  and  pale.  My  spirit,  full  of  cravings, 
struggled  with  a  body  which  was  frail  indeed  in  appearance, 
but  which — as  an  old  doctor  of  Tours  was  wont  to  say — 
was  going  through  the  last  annealing  process  of  an  iron 
temperament.  Young  in  body  and  old  in  mind,  I  had  read 
and  thought  so  much,  that  I  was  metaphysically  familiar 
with  life  in  its  highest  summits,  just  when  I  was  about  to 
explore  the  tortuous  difficulties  of  its  narrow  passes  and 
the  sandy  ways  of  its  plains.  Exceptional  chances  had  kept 
me  late  in  that  delightful  phase  when  the  soul  is  conscious 
of  its  first  agitation,  when  it  is  opening  to  its  first  raptures, 
when  everything  is  fresh  and  full  of  savor.  I  was  standing 
between  boyhood  prolonged  by  study  and  manhood  late  in 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  15 

showing  its  green  shoots.  No  young  man  was  ever  more 
fully  prepared  than  I  to  feel  and  to  love. 

To  fully  understand  my  narrative,  think  of  me  at  the 
charming  age  when  the  lips  are  pure  from  falsehood,  when  the 
eyes  are  honest  though  veiled  by  lids  weighed  down  by  shy- 
ness in  conflict  with  desire,  when  the  spirit  is  not  yet  abject 
before  Jesuitical  worldliness,  and  when  the  heart  is  as  timid 
as  its  first  impulses  are  vehemently  generous. 

I  need  say  nothing  of  my  journey  from  Paris  to  Tours  with 
my  mother.  Her  cold  demeanor  crushed  the  effusiveness  of 
my  affection.  As  we  started  afresh  after  each  relay,  I  re- 
solved to  talk  to  her ;  but  a  look  or  a  word  scared  away  the 
phrases  I  had  composed  as  a  beginning.  At  Orleans,  where 
we  were  to  sleep,  my  mother  reproached  me  for  my  silence. 
I  fell  at  her  knees  and  clasped  them,  shedding  hot  tears;  I 
poured  out  my  heart  to  her,  bursting  with  affection ;  I  tried 
to  soften  her  by  the  eloquence  of  my  pleading ;  starving  for 
love,  my  words  might  have  stirred  the  soul  of  a  stepmother. 
My  mother  told  me  I  was  acting  a  farce.  I  complained  of 
her  neglect ;  she  called  me  an  unnatural  son.  There  was 
such  a  cold  grip  about  my  heart  that  at  Blois  I  went  out  on 
the  bridge  to  throw  myself  into  the  Loire.  I  was  put  off 
from  suicide  simply  by  the  height  of  the  parapet. 

On  my  arrival,  my  two  sisters,  who  scarcely  knew  me, 
showed  more  surprise  than  warmth ;  later,  however,  by  com- 
parison they  seemed  to  me  full  of  kindliness.  I  was  given  a 
bedroom  on  the  third  floor.  You  will  understand  the  extent 
of  my  wretchedness  when  I  tell  you  that  my  mother  left  me, 
a  grown  man,  with  no  linen  but  my  shabby  college  outfit, 
and  no  wardrobe  but  what  I  had  brought  from  Paris. 

When  I  flew  from  one  end  of  the  drawing-room  to  the 
other  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief,  she  gave  me  thanks  as  cold 
as  she  might  have  granted  to  a  servant.  Watching  her 
anxiously  as  I  did,  to  discover  whether  there  were  in  her 
heart  a  friable  spot  where  I  could  insert  some  buds  of  affec- 


16  7 HE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

tion,  I  saw  her  a  tall,  parched,  thin  woman  ;  a  gambler,  selfish 
and  insolent — like  all  the  Listomeres,  in  whom  impertinence 
is  part  of  their  dower.  She  saw  nothing  in  life  but  duties  to 
be  performed ;  every  cold-hearted  woman  I  have  ever  met  has 
made  duty  her  religion,  as  she  did  ;  she  accepted  our  adora- 
tion as  a  priest  accepts  incense  at  mass ;  my  elder  brother 
seemed  to  have  absorbed  the  modicum  of  maternal  feeling 
her  heart  could  contain.  She  was  constantly  inflicting  small 
stings  of  biting  irony,  the  weapon  of  heartless  people,  which 
she  freely  used  on  us  who  could  not  retort. 

In  spite  of  all  these  thorny  barriers,  instinctive  feeling  is 
held  by  so  many  roots,  the  pious  terror  inspired  by  a  mother 
includes  so  many  ties — indeed,  to  give  her  up  as  hopeless  is 
too  cruel  a  shock — that  the  sublime  blunder  of  loving  her 
lasted  till  a  day  when  at  a  riper  age  we  judged  her  truly. 
Then  began  her  children's  reprisals.  Their  indifference,  re- 
sulting from  the  disenchantment  of  the  past,  enhanced  by  the 
slimy  wreckage  they  have  rescued  from  it,  overflows  her  tomb 
even. 

This  frightful  despotism  drove  out  the  voluptuous  dreams  I 
had  madly  hoped  to  realize  at  Tours.  I  flung  myself  desper- 
ately into  my  father's  library,  where  I  read  all  the  books  I 
did  not  already  know.  My  long  hours  of  study  spared  me  all 
contact  with  my  mother ;  but  they  left  me,  morally,  worse 
off  than  ever.  My  eldest  sister,  who  has  since  married  our 
cousin  the  Marquis  de  Listomere,  sometimes  tried  to  comfort 
me  without  being  able  to  soothe  the  irritation  from  which  I 
suffered.  I  longed  for  death. 

Great  events,  of  which  I  knew  nothing,  were  then  in  the 
air.  The  Due  d'AngoulSme,  having  left  Bordeaux  to  join 
Louis  XVIII.  in  Paris,  was  to  be  the  recipient  of  the  ovations 
prepared  by  the  enthusiasm  that  possessed  France  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  Bourbons.  Touraine  in  a  ferment  round  its  legiti- 
mate princes,  the  town  in  a  turmoil,  the  windows  hung  with 
flags,  the  residents  all  in  their  best,  the  preparations  for  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  17 

fete,  the  indefinable  something  in  the  air  which  mounted  to 
my  head,  all  made  me  long  to  be  present  at  the  ball  that  was 
to  be  given  to  the  Prince.  When,  greatly  daring,  I  expressed 
this  wish  to  my  mother — at  that  time  too  ill  to  go  out — she 
was  extremely  wroth.  Had  I  dropped  from  the  Congo,  that 
I  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  ?  How  could  I  imagine 
that  the  family  would  not  be  fitly  represented  at  the  ball  ? 
In  the  absence  of  my  father  and  brother,  of  course  it  would 
be  my  part  to  go.  Had  I  no  mother?  Did  she  never  think 
of  her  children's  happiness?  In  a  moment  the  almost  dis- 
owned son  had  become  a  person  of  importance.  I  was  as 
much  amazed  by  finding  myself  of  consequence  as  by  the 
deluge  of  ironical  reasoning  with  which  my  mother  received 
my  request. 

I  questioned  my  sisters,  and  heard  that  my  mother,  who 
liked  theatrical  surprises,  had  necessarily  considered  the  mat- 
ter of  my  dress.  The  tailors  of  Tours,  in  the  sudden  rush  of 
customers,  could  none  of  them  undertake  to  fit  me  out.  So 
my  mother  had  sent  for  a  needlewoman,  who,  as  usual  in  pro- 
vincial towns,  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  every  kind  of 
sewing.  A  blue  coat  was  secretly  made  for  me,  more  or  less 
successfully.  Silk  stockings  and  new  pumps  were  easly  pro- 
cured ;  men  wore  their  waistcoats  short,  and  I  could  have  one 
of  my  father's ;  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  donned  a  shirt 
with  a  goffered  frill  that  gave  importance  to  my  figure  and 
was  lost  in  the  folds  of  my  cravat.  When  I  was  dressed,  I 
was  so  little  like  myself  that  my  sisters'  compliments  gave  me 
courage  to  make  my  appearance  before  the  whole  of  assem- 
bled Touraine. 

It  was  a  formidable  enterprise  !  But  too  many  were  called 
to  this  festivity  to  allow  of  there  being  many  elect.  Thanks 
to  my  slender  figure,  I  was  able  to  creep  into  a  tent  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Maison  Papion,  and  got  close  to  the  armchair 
in  which  the  Prince  was  enthroned.  In  an  instant  I  was 
stifled  by  the  heat,  dazzled  by  the  lights,  by  the  crimson 
2 


I 


18  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

hangings,  the  gilt  ornaments,  the  dresses  and  the  diamonds 
of  the  first  public  function  I  had  ever  attended.  I  was  pushed 
about  by  a  throng  of  men  and  women,  all  hustling  and  crowd- 
ing each  other  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  blatant  brass  and 
Bourbon  strains  of  the  military  band  were  drowned  by  shouts 
of— 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Due  d'Angouleme  !  Long  live  the  King  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  Bourbons  !  " 

The  fSte  was  an  outbreak  of  enthusiasm  in  which  every  one 
vied  with  the  rest  in  his  vehement  eagerness  to  hail  the  rising 
sun  of  the  Bourbons,  a  display  of  party  selfishness  that  left  me 
cold,  made  me  feel  small,  and  shrink  into  myself. 

Carried  away  like  a  straw  in  a  whirlpool,  I  was  childishly 
wishing  that  I  were  the  Due  d'Angouleme,  and  could  mingle 
with  these  princes  thus  made  a  show  of  to  the  staring  crowd. 
This  silly  provincial  fancy  gave  rise  to  an  ambition  dignified 
by  my  character  and  by  circumstances.  Who  might  not  have 
coveted  this  worship,  repeated  on  a  more  splendid  scale  a  few 
months  later  when  all  Paris  rushed  to  greet  the  Emperor  on 
his  return  from  the  island  of  Elba  ?  This  supreme  power  over 
the  masses,  whose  feelings  and  vitality  discharge  themselves 
into  one  soul,  made  me  a  sudden  devotee  to  Glory,  the  god- 
dess who  puts  the  French  to  the  sword  nowadays,  as  the 
Druidess  of  old  sacrificed  the  Gauls. 

And  then,  as  suddenly,  I  saw  the  woman  who  was  fated  to 
goad  perpetually  my  ambitious  hopes  and  to  crown  them  by 
throwing  me  into  contact  with  royalty. 

Too  shy  to  ask  any  one  to  dance  with  me,  and  fearing,  too, 
that  I  might  make  confusion  in  the  figures,  I  naturally  felt 
very  awkward,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  myself.  Just 
when  I  was  most  conscious  of  the  fatigue  of  constantly  mov- 
ing under  the  pressure  of  the  crowd,  an  officer  trod  on  my 
feet,  which  were  swollen  by  the  pressure  of  my  shoes  and  by 
the  heat.  This  crowning  annoyance  disgusted  me  with  the 
whole  affair.  It  was  impossible  to  get  away  and  I  took  refuge 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  19 

in  a  corner  at  the  extreme  end  of  a  vacant  bench,  where  I  sat 
down,  my  gaze  fixed,  motionless,  and  sulky.  A  woman,  mis- 
led by  my  delicate  looks,  took  me  for  a  boy  half-asleep  while 
awaiting  my  mother's  pleasure,  and  seated  herself  by  me  with 
the  light  movement  of  a  bird  settling  on  its  nest.  I  was  at 
once  aware  of  a  feminine  fragrance  which  flashed  upon  my 
soul  as  Oriental  poetry  has  flashed  upon  it  since.  I  looked 
at  my  neighbor,  and  was  more  dazzled  by  her  than  I  had  been 
by  the  ball. 

If  you  have  at  all  entered  into  my  previous  life,  you  can 
guess  the  emotions  that  swelled  my  heart.  My  eyes  were 
suddenly  fascinated  by  white  rounded  shoulders  that  made  me 
long  to  bury  my  face  in  them,  shoulders  faintly  pink,  as  if 
they  were  blushing  to  find  themselves  bare  for  the  first  time, 
bashful  shoulders  with  a  soul  of  their  own  and  a  satin  skin 
shining  in  the  light  like  a  silken  fabric.  Between  these 
shoulders  ran  a  furrow  which  my  eyes,  bolder  than  my  hand, 
glided  into.  My  heart  beat  as  I  stood  up  to  look  over  them, 
and  I  was  entirely  captivated  by  a  bosom  modestly  covered 
with  gauze,  perfect  in  roundness,  and  bluely  veined  as  it  lay 
softly  bedded  in  lace  frills.  The  least  details  of  the  charming 
head  were  allurements  stirring  me  to  endless  delight:  the 
sheen  of  the  hair  knotted  above  a  neck  as  peach-like  as  a  little 
girl's,  the  white  partings  made  by  the  comb  along  which  my 
imagination  played  as  in  a  new-made  path — everything  to- 
gether turned  my  brain. 

Looking  around  to  make  sure  that  no  one  saw  me,  I  buried 
my  face  in  that  back  as  a  baby  hides  in  its  mother's  breast, 
and  kissed  those  shoulders  all  over,  rubbing  my  cheek  against 
them.  The  lady  gave  a  piercing  cry,  inaudible  above  the 
music ;  she  turned  sharply  round,  saw  me,  and  said,  "  Mon- 
sieur ! ' ' 

If  she  had  said,  "My  good  boy,  what  possesses  you?"  I 
should  perhaps  have  killed  her;  but  this  word  Monsieur 
brought  hot  tears  to  my  eyes. 


20  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

I  was  petrified  by  a  look  fired  with  righteous  anger,  and  an 
exquisite  face  crowned  with  a  plait  of  fair  brown  hair,  in  har- 
mony with  those  adorable  shoulders.  The  crimson  of  offended 
modesty  flamed  in  her  face,  which  was  already  softening  with 
a  woman's  forgiveness  for  a  mad  act  when  she  is  the  cause  of 
it,  and  when  she  sees  a  passion  of  worship  in  the  tears  of 
repentance.  She  arose  and  walked  away  with  the  dignity  of 
a  queen. 

Then  I  understood  how  ridiculous  was  my  position  ;  then, 
and  not  till  then,  I  felt  that  I  was  dressed  like  a  Savoyard's 
monkey.  I  was  ashamed.  I  sat  there  quite  stupefied,  relish- 
ing the  apple  I  had  stolen,  feeling  on  my  lips  the  warmth  of 
the  blood  I  had  scented ;  quite  unrepentant,  and  following 
with  my  eyes  this  being  come  down  from  heaven.  Then, 
overpowered  by  this  first  physical  indulgence  of  my  heart's  wild 
fever,  I  wandered  through  the  ball-room,  now  a  desert,  with- 
out finding  the  unknown  vision.  I  went  home  and  to  bed, 
an  altered  creature. 

A  new  soul,  a  soul  with  iridescent  wings,  had  burst  its 
chrysalis  within  me.  My  favorite  star,  dropping  from  the 
blue  waste  where  I  had  admired  it,  had  become  woman,  while 
preserving  its  light,  its  sparkle,  and  its  brilliancy.  Sud- 
denly, knowing  nothing  of  love,  I  had  fallen  in  love.  Is  not 
this  first  irruption  of  the  most  intense  feeling  a  man  can  know 
a  very  strange  thing?  I  had  met  some  pretty  women  in  my 
aunt's  drawing-room  ;  they  had  not  made  the  slightest  impres- 
sion on  me.  Is  there  an  hour,  a  conjunction  of  the  stars,  a 
combination  of  fitting  circumstances,  a  particular  woman  above 
all  other  women,  which  seal  a  passion  as  exclusive  at  the  age 
when  passion  includes  the  whole  female  sex  ? 

As  I  thought  that  my  chosen  lady  dwelt  in  Touraine,  I  in- 
haled the  air  with  rapture ;  I  saw  a  blue  in  the  sky  which  I 
have  never  since  perceived  elsewhere. 

Though  mentally  I  was  in  ecstacy,  I  seemed  to  be  very  ill ; 
my  mother  was  at  once  alarmed  and  remorseful.  Like  animals 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  2i 

aware  of  approaching  distemper,  I  would  creep  into  a  corner 
of  the  garden  to  dream  of  the  kisses  I  had  stolen.  A  few  days 
after  the  memorable  ball  my  mother  began  to  ascribe  my 
neglect  of  study,  my  indifference  to  her  searching  looks,  my 
heedlessness  of  her  irony,  and  my  gloomy  behavior  to  the 
natural  development  of  a  growing  man.  Country  air,  the 
universal  remedy  for  every  malady  of  which  science  can  give 
no  account,  was  regarded  as  the  best  means  of  curing  me  of 
my  apathy.  My  mother  decided  that  I  should  spend  a  few 
days  at  Frapesle,  a  chateau  on  the  Indre,  between  Montvazon 
and  Azay-le-Rideau,  with  a  friend  of  hers,  to  whom,  no  doubt, 
she  gave  her  private  instructions. 

On  the  day  when  I  was  thus  given  the  key  of  the  fields,  I 
had  plunged  so  deeply  into  the  ocean  of  love  that  I  had  crossed 
it.  I  knew  not  my  fair  one's  name ;  what  could  I  call  her  or 
where  could  I  find  her?  To  whom,  indeed,  could  I  speak  of 
her  ?  My  natural  shyness  increased  the  unaccountable  terrors 
which  possess  a  young  heart  at  the  first  flutter  of  love,  and 
made  me  begin  with  the  melancholy  which  is  the  end  of  a 
hopeless  passion.  I  was  quite  content  to  come  and  go  and 
wander  about  the  country,  with  the  childlike  spirit  that  is 
ready  for  anything  and  has  a  certain  tinge  of  chivalry ;  I  was 
prepared  to  hunt  through  all  the  country-houses  of  Touraine, 
wandering  on  foot,  and  saying  at  each  pretty  turret,  "It  will 
be  there!" 

So  one  Thursday  morning  I  left  Tours  by  the  Saint-Eloy 
gate,  I  crossed  the  bridges  of  Saint-Sauveur,  I  reached  Poncher, 
my  nose  in  the  air  in  front  of  every  house  I  passed,  and  was 
on  the  road  to  Chinon.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  could 
rest  under  a  tree,  walk  fast  or  slowly  as  I  wished  without  being 
called  to  account  by  any  one.  To  a  poor  creature  so  utterly 
crushed  by  the  various  despotisms  which  weigh  more  or  less  on 
every  young  life,  the  first  taste  of  freedom,  though  exerted  in 
trifles,  brought  unspeakable  expansion  to  my  soul. 


22  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

Several  reasons  combined  to  make  that  a  high  day  full  of 
delights.  In  my  childhood  my  walks  had  never  taken  me 
more  than  a  league  out  of  the  town.  My  excursions  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Pont-le-Voy  and  the  walks  I  had  taken  in 
Paris  had  not  surfeited  me  with  rural  beauty.  Nevertheless,  I 
had  retained  from  the  earliest  impressions  of  my  life  a  strong 
feeling  of  the  beauty  inherent  in  the  scenery  round  Tours, 
with  which  I  was  familiar.  Thus,  though  I  was  new  to  what 
constitutes  the  poetry  of  a  site,  I  was  unconsciously  exacting, 
as  men  are  who  have  conceived  of  the  ideal  of  an  art  without 
ever  having  practiced  it. 

To  go  to  the  chateau  of  Frapesle,  those  who  walk  or  ride 
shorten  the  way  by  crossing  the  common  known  as  the  Landes 
de  Charlemagne,  a  waste  lying  at  the  top  of  the  plateau  which 
divides  the  valley  of  the  Cher  from  that  of  the  Indre,  and 
which  is  reached  by  a  cross-road  from  Champy.  This  flat  and 
sandy  down,  depressing  enough  for  about  a  league,  ends  in  a 
coppice  adjoining  the  road  to  Sache,  the  village  nearest  to 
Frapesle.  This  country-lane,  leading  into  the  Chinon  road  at 
some  distance  beyond  Ballan,  skirts  an  undulating  plain  devoid 
of  remarkable  features  as  far  as  the  hamlet  of  Artanne.  Thence 
a  valley  opens  down  to  the  Loire,  from  Montvazon  at  the 
head  ;  the  hills  seem  to  rebound  under  the  country-houses  on 
each  range  of  slopes ;  it  is  a  glorious  emerald  basin,  and  at  the 
bottom  the  Indre  winds  in  serpentine  curves.  I  was  startled 
by  the  view  into  a  rapturous  astonishment  for  which  the  dull- 
ness of  the  Landes  or  the  fatigue  of  my  walk  had  prepared  me : 
If  this  woman,  the  flower  of  her  sex,  inhabits  a  spot  on  earth, 
it  must  be  this  ! 

At  the  thought  I  leaned  against  a  walnut  tree ;  and  now, 
whenever  I  revisit  that  beloved  valley,  I  go  to  rest  under  its 
boughs.  Under  that  tree,  the  confidant  of  all  my  thoughts, 
I  examine  myself  as  to  the  changes  that  may  have  taken 
place  during  the  time  that  has  elapsed  since  last  I  left  it. 

My  heart  had  not  deceived  me:  it  was  there  that  she  dwelt; 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  23 

the  first  chateau  I  could  see  on  a  shelf  of  the  down  was  her 
home.  When  I  sat  down  under  my  walnut  tree,  the  noonday 
sun  struck  sparks  from  the  slates  of  her  roof  and  the  glass 
panes  of  her  windows.  Her  cambric  dress  was  the  white  spot 
I  could  see  among  some  vines  under  a  pleached  alley.  She 
was,  as  you  know  already,  though  as  yet  you  know  nothing, 
the  Lily  of  this  Valley,  where  she  grew  for  heaven,  rilling  it 
with  the  fragrance  of  her  virtues.  I  saw  an  emblem  of  in- 
finite love  with  nothing  to  keep  it  alive  but  an  object  only 
once  seen,  in  the  long  watery  ribbon  which  glistens  in  the 
sun  between  two  green  banks,  in  the  rows  of  poplars  which 
deck  that  vale  of  love  with  moving  tracery,  in  the  oak  woods 
thrust  forward  between  the  vineyards  on  the  hillsides  rounded 
by  the  river  into  constant  variety,  and  in  the  soft  outlines 
crossing  each  other  and  fading  to  the  horizon. 

If  you  wish  to  see  nature  fair  and  virginal  as  a  bride,  go 
thither  some  spring  day ;  if  you  want  to  solace  the  bleeding 
wounds  of  your  heart,  return  in  the  late  days  of  autumn.  In 
spring  love  flutters  his  wings  under  the  open  sky ;  in  autumn 
we  dream  of  those  who  are  no  more.  Weak  lungs  inhale  a 
healing  freshness,  the  eye  finds  rest  on  golden-hued  groves 
from  which  the  soul  borrows  sweet  peace. 

At  the  moment  when  I  looked  down  on  the  valley  of  the 
Indre,  the  mills  on  its  falls  gave  voice  to  the  murmuring  vale ; 
the  poplars  laughed  as  they  swayed ;  there  was  not  a  cloud  in 
the  sky ;  the  birds  sang,  the  grasshoppers  chirped,  everything 
was  melody.  Never  ask  me  again  why  I  love  Touraine.  I  do 
not  love  it  as  we  love  our  childhood's  home,  nor  as  we  love 
an  oasis  in  the  desert ;  I  love  it  as  an  artist  loves  art.  I  love 
it  less  than  I  love  you ;  still,  but  for  Touraine,  perhaps  I 
should  not  now  be  alive. 

Without  knowing  why,  my  eyes  were  riveted  to  the  white 
spot,  to  the  woman  who  shone  in  that  garden  as  the  bell  of  a 
convolvulus  shines  among  shrubs  and  is  blighted  by  a  touch. 
My  soul  deeply  stirred,  I  went  down  into  this  bower  and 


24  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

presently  saw  a  village,  which  to  ray  highly  strung  poetic 
mood  seemed  matchless.  Picture  to  yourself  three  mills, 
charmingly  situated  among  pretty  islets  with  imbayed  banks, 
and  crowned  with  clumps  of  trees,  in  the  midst  of  a  meadow 
of  water ;  for  what  other  name  can  I  give  to  the  aquatic 
vegetation,  so  brightly  tinted,  which  carpets  the  stream,  floats 
on  its  surface,  follows  its  eddies,  yields  to  its  caprices,  and 
bends  to  the  turmoil  of  waters  lashed  by  the  mill-wheels. 
Here  and  there  rise  shoals  of  pebbles  on  which  the  river 
breaks  in  a  fringe  of  surf  reflecting  the  sun.  Amaryllis,  water- 
lilies,  white  and  yellow,  reeds,  and  phlox  dress  the  banks  with 
glorious  hues.  A  crumbling  bridge  of  rotting  timbers,  its 
piles  hung  with  flowers,  its  balustrade  covered  with  herbage 
and  velvety  mosses,  and  hanging  over  the  stream,  but  not  yet 
fallen ;  time-worn  boats,  fishing-nets,  the  monotonous  song 
of  a  shepherd,  ducks  paddling  from  isle  to  isle,  or  preening 
themselves  on  the  shoals — If  jard,  as  the  coarse  gravel  de- 
posited by  the  Loire  is  called ;  miller's  men,  a  cap  over  one 
ear,  loading  their  mules ;  every  detail  made  the  scene  strik- 
ingly artless.  Then,  beyond  the  bridge,  imagine  two  or 
three  farms,  a  dovecote,  sundry  turrets,  thirty  houses  or  more, 
standing  apart  in  gardens  divided  by  hedges  of  honeysuckle, 
jessamine,  and  clematis ;  heaps  of  manure  in  front  of  every 
door,  and  domestic  fowls  in  the  road — and  you  see  the  village 
of  Pont-du-Ruan,  a  pretty  hamlet  crowned  with  an  old  church 
of  characteristic  style,  a  church  of  the  time  of  the  Crusades, 
such  as  painters  love  for  their  pictures.  Set  it  all  in  the  midst 
of  ancient  walnut  trees,  of  young  poplars  with  their  pale,  gold 
foliage,  add  some  elegant  dwellings  rising  from  broad  meadows 
where  the  eye  loses  itself  under  the  warm  misty  sky,  and  you 
will  have  some  idea  of  the  thousand  beauties  of  this  lovely 
country. 

I  followed  the  lane  to  Sach6  along  the  left  bank  of  the 
river,  noting  the  details  of  the  hills  that  broke  the  line  of  the 
opposite  shore.  At  last  I  reached  a  park  of  venerable  trees 


THE  LILY  Of    THE    VALLEY.  25 

which  showed  me  that  I  was  at  Frapesle.  I  arrived  exactly 
as  the  bell  was  ringing  for  late  breakfast.  After  this  meal, 
my  host,  never  suspecting  that  I  had  come  from  Tours  on 
foot,  took  me  all  over  his  grounds,  and  from  every  part  of 
them  I  could  see  the  valley  under  various  aspects ;  here 
through  a  vista  and  there  spread  out  before  me.  In  many 
places  my  gaze  was  attracted  to  the  horizon  by  the  broad 
golden  tide  of  the  Loire,  where  between  the  rolling  hills  sails 
showed  their  fantastic  shapes  flying  before  the  wind.  As  I 
climbed  a  ridge  I  could  admire  for  the  first  time  the  chateau 
of  Azay,  a  diamond  with  a  thousand  facets  with  the  Indre  for 
a  setting,  and  perched  on  piles  buried  in  flowers.  There  in  a 
dell  I  saw  the  romantic  mass  of  the  chateau  of  Sache,  a  melan- 
choly spot,  full  of  harmonies  too  sad  for  superficial  minds, 
but  dear  to  poets  whose  spirit  is  stricken.  I  myself  at  a  later 
time  loved  its  silence,  its  huge  hoary  trees  and  the  mystery 
that  seemed  to  hang  over  that  deserted  hollow.  And  still, 
each  time  I  caught  sight,  on  the  shoulder  of  the  next  hill,  of 
the  pretty  little  chateau  I  had  seen  and  chosen  at  a  first 
glance,  my  eye  lingered  on  it  with  delight. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  said  my  host,  reading  in  my  eyes  an  eager  de- 
sire such  as  a  youth  of  my  age  expresses  without  guile,  "you 
scent  a  pretty  woman  from  afar  as  a  dog  scents  game." 

I  did  not  like  the  tone  of  this  remark,  but  I  asked  the  name 
of  the  place  and  of  the  owner. 

"It  is  Clochegourde,"  said  he,  "a  pretty  house  belonging 
to  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  the  representative  of  a  family 
noted  in  the  history  of  Touraine,  whose  fortune  dates  from 
the  time  of  Louis  XL,  and  whose  name  reveals  the  adventure 
to  which  he  owes  his  arms  and  his  fame.  He  is  descended 
from  a  man  who  survived  hanging.  The  arms  borne  by  the 
Mortsaufs  are :  Or,  on  a  cross  potent  and  counter-potent, 
sable,  a  fleur-de-lys  rooted,  of  the  field.  Motto,  Dim  saulve 
le  Roi  notre  Sire  (God  save  our  Sire  the  King). 

"The  Count  came  to  settle  here  on  the  return  of  the 


26  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

Emigres.  The  house  of  Lenoncourt-Givry  becomes  extinct 
in  his  wife,  who  was  a  Demoiselle  de  Lenoncourt ;  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  is  an  only  child.  The  small  wealth  of  this 
family  is  in  such  strong  contrast  to  the  splendor  of  their 
names  that  from  pride — or  perhaps  from  necessity — they 
always  live  at  Clochegourde,  and  see  no  one.  Hitherto  their 
devotion  to  the  Bourbons  may  have  justified  their  isolation ; 
but  I  doubt  whether  the  King's  return  will  change  their  way 
of  living.  When  I  settled  here  last  year  I  paid  them  a  call 
of  politeness ;  they  returned  it  and  asked  us  to  dinner. 
Then  the  winter  kept  us  apart  for  some  months  and  political 
events  delayed  our  return,  for  I  have  only  lately  come  home 
to  Frapesle.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  a  woman  who  might 
take  the  first  place  anywhere." 

"  Does  she  often  go  to  Tours  ?  " 

"She  never  goes  there.  Yes,"  he  added,  correcting  him- 
self, "  she  went  there  quite  lately,  on  the  occasion  when  the 
Due  d'Angouleme  passed  through,  and  was  very  gracious  to 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf." 

"It  is  she!  "  I  cried. 

"She!     Who?" 

"A  woman  with  beautiful  shoulders." 

"You  will  find  many  women  with  beautiful  shoulders  in 
Touraine,"  said  he,  laughing  ;  "  but  if  you  are  not  tired,  we 
can  cross  the  river  and  go  up  to  Clochegourde,  where  you 
may  possibly  recognize  your  fine  shoulders." 

I  agreed,  not  without  reddening  from  pleasure  and  shyness. 
By  about  four  o'clock  we  reached  the  house  on  which  my  eyes 
had  so  fondly  lingered.  This  little  chateau,  which  looked 
well  in  the  landscape,  is,  in  fact,  a  modest  building.  It  has 
five  windows  in  front ;  that  at  each  end  of  the  south  front 
projects  by  about  two  yards,  giving  the  effect  of  wings  and 
adding  to  the  importance  of  the  house.  The  middle  window 
serves  as  the  door,  whence  double  steps  lead  to  a  garden  ex- 
tending in  terraces  down  to  a  meadow  bordering  the  Indre. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  27 

Though  this  meadow  is  divided  by  a  lane  from  the  lowest  ter- 
race shaded  by  a  row  of  ailanthus  and  acacia  trees,  it  looks 
like  part  of  the  grounds,  for  the  lane  is  sunk  between  the  ter- 
race on  one  side  and  a  thick  hedge  on  the  other.  The  slope 
between  the  house  and  the  river  is  taken  advantage  of  to 
avoid  the  inconvenience  of  being  so  near  the  water  without 
losing  the  pretty  effect.  Under  the  dwelling-house  are  the 
stables,  coach-houses,  storerooms,  and  kitchens,  with  doors 
under  archways. 

The  roof  is  pleasingly  curved  at  the  angles,  the  dormer 
windows  have  carved  mullions,  and  finials  of  lead  over  the 
gables.  The  slates,  neglected  no  doubt  during  the  revolution, 
are  covered  with  the  rust-colored  and  orange,  clinging  lichens 
that  grow  on  houses  facing  the  south.  The  glazed  door  at 
the  top  of  the  steps  has  above  it  a  little  campanile  on  which 
may  be  seen  the  achievement  of  the  Blamont-Chauvrys :  Quar- 
terly gules,  a  pale  vair  between  two  hands  proper,  and  or,  two 
lances  sable  in  chevron.  The  motto,  See,  but  touch  not,  struck 
me  strangely.  The  supporters,  a  griffin  and  a  dragon  chained 
or,  had  a  good  effect  in  sculpture.  The  revolution  had  dam- 
aged the  ducal  coronet  and  the  crest,  a  palm  branch  vert 
fruited  or.  Senart,  secretary  to  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  was  bailiff  of  Sache  till  1781,  which  accounts  for  this 
destruction. 

The  decorative  character  gives  an  elegant  appearance  to 
this  country-house,  as  delicately  finished  as  a  flower,  and 
hardly  seeming  to  weigh  on  the  ground.  Seen  from  the  val- 
ley, the  first  floor  looks  as  if  it  were  the  second  floor  ;  but  on 
the  side  toward  the  courtyard  it  is  on  the  same  level  as  the 
wide  path  ending  in  a  lawn  graced  with  raised  flower-beds. 
To  right  and  left  vineyards,  orchards,  and  some  arable  land 
dotted  with  walnut  trees  slope  away  steeply,  surrounding  the 
house  with  verdure  down  to  the  brink  of  the  river,  which  is 
bordered  on  this  side  with  clumps  of  trees  whose  various  tints 
of  green  have  been  grouped  by  the  hand  of  nature. 


28  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

As  I  mounted  the  winding  road  to  Clochegourde,  I  ad- 
mired these  well-assorted  masses,  and  breathed  an  atmosphere 
redolent  of  happiness.  Has  our  moral  nature,  like  physical 
nature,  electric  discharges  and  swift  changes  of  temperature  ? 
My  heart  throbbed  in  anticipation  of  the  secret  events  which 
were  about  to  transform  it  once  for  all,  as  animals  grow  spor- 
tive before  fine  weather.  This,  the  most  important  day  in 
my  life,  was  not  devoid  of  any  circumstance  that  could  con- 
tribute to  sanctify  it.  Nature  had  dressed  herself  like  a 
maiden  going  forth  to  meet  her  beloved ;  my  soul  had 
heard  her  voice  for  the  first  time,  my  eyes  had  admired  her, 
as  fruitful,  as  various  as  my  imagination  had  painted  her  in 
those  day-dreams  at  school  of  which  I  have  told  you  some- 
thing, but  too  little  to  explain  their  influence  over  me,  for 
they  were  as  an  apocalypse,  figuratively  predicting  my  life  ; 
every  incident  of  it,  happy  or  sad,  is  connected  with  them  by 
some  whimsical  image,  by  ties  visible  only  to  the  eye  of  the 
soul. 

We  crossed  an  outer  court,  enclosed  by  the  outbuildings  of 
a  rural  habitation — a  granary,  a  winepress,  cow-houses,  and 
stables.  A  servant,  warned  by  the  barking  of  a  watchdog, 
came  out  to  meet  us,  and  told  us  that  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
who  had  gone  to  Azay  in  the  morning,  would  presently  re- 
turn, no  doubt,  and  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  was  at  home. 
My  host  looked  at  me.  I  trembled  to  think  that  he  might 
not  choose  to  call  on  Madame  de  Mortsauf  in  her  husband's 
absence,  but  he  bade  the  servant  to  announce  our  names. 

Driven  by  childish  eagerness,  I  hurried  into  the  long  ante- 
room which  ran  across  the  house. 

"  Come  in,  pray,"  said  a  golden  voice. 

Although  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  spoken  but  one  word 
at  the  ball,  I  recognized  her  voice,  which  sank  into  my  soul 
and  filled  it  as  a  sunbeam  fills  and  gilds  a  prisoner's  cell. 
Then,  reflecting  that  she  might  recognize  me,  I  longed  to  fly  ; 
it  was  too  late  ;  she  appeared  at  the  drawing-room  door,  and 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  29 

our  eyes  met.  Which  of  us  reddened  most  deeply  I  do  not 
know.  She  returned  to  her  seat  in  front  of  an  embroidery 
frame,  the  servant  having  pushed  forward  two  chairs ;  she 
finished  drawing  her  needle  through  as  an  excuse  for  her 
silence,  counted  two  or  three  stitches,  and  then  raised  her 
head,  that  was  at  once  proud  and  gentle,  to  ask  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  to  what  happy  chance  she  owed  the  pleasure  of  his 
visit. 

Though  curious  to  know  the  truth  as  to  my  appearance 
there,  she  did  not  look  at  either  of  us ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  river ;  but  from  the  way  she  listened,  it  might  have  been 
supposed  that  she  had  the  faculty  of  the  blind,  and  knew  all 
the  agitations  of  my  soul  by  the  least  accent  of  speech.  And 
this  was  the  fact. 

Monsieur  de  Chessel  mentioned  my  name  and  sketched  my 
biography.  I  had  come  to  Tours  some  few  months  since 
with  my  parents,  who  had  brought  me  home  when  the  war 
threatened  Paris.  She  saw  in  me  a  son  of  Touraine,  to  whom 
the  province  was  unknown,  a  young  man  exhausted  by  exces- 
sive work,  sent  to  Frapesle  to  rest  and  amuse  myself,  and  to 
whom  he  had  shown  his  estate,  as  it  was  my  first  visit.  I 
had  told  him,  only  on  reaching  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  that  I 
had  walked  from  Tours  that  morning ;  and  fearing  over- 
fatigue,  as  my  health  was  feeble,  he  had  ventured  to  call  at 
Clochegourde,  thinking  she  would  allow  me  to  rest  there. 
Monsieur  de  Chessel  spoke  the  exact  truth.  But  a  genuinely 
happy  chance  seems  so  elaborate  an  invention,  that  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  was  still  distrustful ;  she  looked  at  me  with  eyes 
so  cold  and  stern  that  I  lowered  mine,  as  much  from  a  vague 
sense  of  humiliation  as  to  hide  the  tears  I  withheld  from  fall- 
ing. The  haughty  lady  saw  that  my  brow  was  moist  with 
sweat ;  perhaps,  too,  she  guessed  the  tears,  for  she  offered  me 
any  refreshment  I  might  need  with  a  comforting  kindness 
which  restored  my  powers  of  speech. 

I  blushed  like  a  girl  caught  in  the  wrong,  and  in  a  voice, 


30  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

quavering  like  an  old  man's,  I  replied  with  thanks,  but  declin- 
ing anything. 

"All  I  wish,"  I  said,  raising  my  eyes,  which  met  hers  for 
the  second  time,  but  for  an  instant  as  short  as  a  lightning- 
flash,  "  is  that  you  will  allow  me  to  remain  here ;  I  am  so 
stiff  with  fatigue  that  I  cannot  walk." 

' '  How  can  you  doubt  the  hospitality  of  our  lovely  prov- 
ince?" said  she.  "  You  will  perhaps  give  us  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  at  dinner  at  Clochegourde  ? ' '  she  added  to  her 
neighbor. 

I  flashed  a  look  at  my  friend,  a  look  so  full  of  entreaty  that 
he  beat  about  the  bush  a  little  to  accept  this  invitation,  which, 
by  its  form,  required  a  refusal. 

Though  knowledge  of  the  world  enabled  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  to  distinguish  so  subtle  a  shade,  an  inexperienced 
youth  believes  so  firmly  in  the  identity  of  word  and  thought 
in  a  handsome  woman  that  I  was  immensely  surprised  when, 
as  we  went  home  in  the  evening,  my  host  said,  half-jokingly, 
to  me — 

"I  stayed  because  you  were  dying  to  do  so;  but  if  you 
cannot  patch  matters  up,  I  may  be  in  a  scrape  with  my  neigh- 
bors." 

This  "  if  you  cannot  patch  matters  up  "  gave  me  matter  for 
thought.  If  Madame  de  Mortsauf  liked  me,  she  could  not  be 
annoyed  with  the  man  who  had  introduced  me  to  her.  So 
Monsieur  de  Chessel  thought  I  might  be  able  to  interest  her 
— was  not  this  enough  to  give  me  the  power?  This  solution 
confirmed  my  hopes  at  a  moment  when  I  needed  such  support. 

"That  is  hardly  possible,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Chessel, 
"  my  wife  expects  us." 

"She  has  you  every  day,"  replied  the  Countess,  "and  we 
can  send  her  a  message.  Is  she  alone  ?  " 

"  She  has  the  Abb<§  de  Qu6lus  with  her." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  she,  rising  to  ring  the  bell,  "  you 
will  dine  with  us." 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  31 

This  time  Monsieur  de  Chessel  thought  her  sincere,  and 
gave  me  a  look  of  congratulation. 

As  soon  as  I  was  certain  of  spending  a  whole  evening  under 
this  roof,  I  felt  as  if  eternity  were  mine.  To  many  an  un- 
happy wretch  to-morrow  is  a  word  devoid  of  meaning,  and  at 
this  moment  I  was  one  of  those  who  have  no  belief  in  to- 
morrow; when  I  had  a  few  hours  to  call  my  own,  I  crowded 
a  lifetime  of  rapture  into  them. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  then  began  to  talk  of  the  country,  of 
the  crops,  of  the  vines — subjects  to  which  I  was  a  stranger. 
In  the  mistress  of  a  house  this  behavior  argues  want  of  breed- 
ing, or  else  contempt  for  the  person  she  thus  shuts  out  of  the 
conversation,  but  in  the  Countess  it  was  simply  embarrass- 
ment. Though  at  first  I  fancied  she  was  affecting  to  regard 
me  as  a  boy,  and  envied  the  privilege  of  thirty  years,  which 
allowed  Monsieur  de  Chessel  to  entertain  his  fair  neighbor 
with  such  serious  matters,  of  which  I  understood  nothing, 
and  though  I  tormented  myself  by  thinking  that  everything 
was  done  for  him ;  within  a  few  months  I  knew  all  that  a 
woman's  silence  can  mean  and  how  many  thoughts  are  dis- 
guised by  desultory  conversation. 

I  at  once  tried  to  sit  at  my  ease  in  my  chair ;  then  I  per- 
ceived the  advantage  of  my  position,  and  gave  myself  up  to 
the  delight  of  hearing  the  Countess'  voice.  The  breath  of 
her  soul  lurked  behind  the  procession  of  syllables,  as  sound  is 
divided  in  the  notes  of  a  keyed  flute ;  it  died  undulating  on 
the  ear,  whence  it  seemed  to  drive  the  blood.  Her  way  of 
pronouncing  words  ending  in  *  was  like  the  song  of  birds; 
her  pronunciation  of  ch  was  like  a  caress ;  and  the  way  in 
which  spoke  the  letter  /  betrayed  a  despotic  heart.  She  un- 
consciously expanded  the  meaning  of  words,  and  led  one's 
spirit  away  into  a  supernatural  world.  How  often  have  I  per- 
mitted a  discussion  to  go  on  which  I  might  have  ended  ;  how 
often  have  I  allowed  myself  to  be  unjustly  blamed,  merely  to 
hear  that  music  of  the  human  voice,  to  breathe  the  air  that 


32  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

came  from  her  lips  so  full  of  her  soul,  to  clasp  that  spoken 
light  with  as  much  ardor  as  I  could  have  thrown  into  pressing 
the  Countess  to  my  heart !  What  a  song,  as  of  some  joyful 
swallow,  when  she  could  laugh  ;  but  what  a  ring,  as  of  a  swan 
calling  to  its  fellow-swans,  when  she  spoke  of  her  sorrows  ! 

The  Countess'  inattention  to  me  allowed  me  to  study  her. 
My  eyes  feasted  as  they  gazed  at  the  lovely  speaker ;  they 
embraced  her  form,  kissed  her  feet,  played  with  the  ringlets 
of  her  hair.  And  all  the  time  I  was  a  prey  to  the  terror 
which  only  those  can  understand  who  have,  in  the  course  of 
their  lives,  known  the  immeasurable  joys  of  a  genuine  pas- 
sion. I  was  afraid  lest  she  should  detect  my  gaze  fixed  on 
the  spot  between  her  shoulders  which  I  had  kissed  so  ardently. 
My  fear  whetted  the  temptation,  and  I  yielded  to  it.  I  looked, 
my  eye  rent  the  stuff  of  her  dress,  and  I  saw  a  mole  that 
marked  the  top  of  the  pretty  line  between  her  shoulders,  a 
speck  lying  on  milk;  this,  ever  since  the  ball,  had  blazed  out 
of  the  darkness  in  which  the  sleep  of  youths  seems  to  float 
when  their  imagination  is  ardent  and  their  life  chaste. 

I  can  sketch  for  you  the  principal  features  which  would 
everywhere  have  attracted  attention  to  the  Countess  ;  but  the 
most  exact  drawing,  the  warmest  glow  of  color,  would  express 
nothing  of  it.  Her  face  is  one  of  those  of  which  no  one 
could  give  a  true  portrait  but  the  impossible  artist  whose  hand 
can  paint  the  glow  of  inward  fires,  and  render  the  luminous 
essence  which  science  denies,  which  language  has  no  word 
for,  but  which  a  lover  sees.  Her  mass  of  fine,  fair  hair  often 
gave  her  headaches,  caused  no  doubt  by  a  sudden  rush  of 
blood  to  the  head.  Her  rounded  forehead,  prominent  like 
that  of  La  Gioconda,  seemed  to  be  full  of  unspoken  ideas, 
of  suppressed  feelings — flowers  drowned  in  bitter  waters. 
Her  eyes  were  greenish,  with  spots  of  hazel,  and  always  pale 
in  color;  but  when  her  children  were  concerned,  of  if  she 
was  betrayed  into  any  vehement  emotion  of  joy  or  grief, 
rare  in  the  life  of  a  resigned  wife,  her  eye  could  flash  with  a 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  33 

subtle  flame,  which  seemed  to  have  derived  its  fire  from  the 
deepest  springs  of  life,  and  which  would,  no  doubt,  dry  them 
up ;  a  lightning  gleam  that  has  wrung  tears  from  me  when 
she  shed  on  me  her  terrible  disdain,  and  that  she  found  ade- 
quate to  abash  the  boldest  gaze. 

A  Greek  nose  that  Phidias  might  have  chiseled,  joined  by 
a  double  curve  to  lips  of  exquisite  shape,  gave  strength  to 
her  oval  face ;  and  her  complexion,  like  a  camellia-petal,  was 
charmingly  tinted  with  tender  rose  in  the  cheeks.  She  was  not 
thin,  but  this  did  not  detract  from  the  grace  of  her  figure, 
nor  from  the  roundness  that  made  every  outline  beautiful, 
though  fully  developed.  You  will  at  once  understand  the 
character  of  this  perfection  when  I  tell  you  that  at  the  junc- 
tion with  the  upper  arm  of  the  dazzling  bosom  that  had 
bewitched  me,  there  could  be  no  roll  nor  wrinkle.  Her 
throat,  where  her  head  was  set  on,  showed  none  of  those 
hollows  that  make  some  women's  necks  look  like  tree-trunks  ; 
the  muscles  showed  no  cords,  and  every  line  was  curved  with  a 
grace  as  distracting  to  the  eyes  as  to  the  painter's  brush.  A 
delicate  down  died  away  on  her  cheeks  and  on  the  back  of 
her  neck,  catching  the  light  with  a  silky  sheen.  Her  ears 
were  small  and  shapely — the  ears  of  a  slave  and  of  a  mother, 
she  used  to  say.  Later,  when  I  dwelt  in  her  heart,  she  would 
say,  "  Here  comes  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,"  and  be  quite  right, 
when  I  could  as  yet  hear  nothing — I,  whose  hearing  is  re- 
markably keen.  Her  arms  were  beautiful ;  her  hands,  with 
their  turned-up  finger-tips,  were  long,  and  the  nails  set  into 
the  flesh  as  in  antique  statues. 

I  should  offend  you  by  attributing  greater  beauty  to  a  flat 
figure  than  to  a  full  one,  but  that  you  are  an  exception.  A 
round  figure  is  a  sign  of  strength ;  but  women  who  are  built 
so  are  imperious,  willful,  and  voluptuous  rather  than  tender. 
Women  who  are  flatly  formed  are,  on  the  contrary,  self-sacri- 
ficing, full  of  refinement,  and  inclined  to  melancholy;  they 
are  more  thoroughly  women.  A  flat  figure  is  soft  and  supple ; 
3 


34  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

a  full  one  is  rigid  and  jealous.  Now  you  know  the  kind 
of  shape  she  had.  She  had  the  foot  of  a  lady,  a  foot  that 
walks  little,  is  easily  tired,  and  is  engaging  to  look  upon  when 
it  peeps  from  under  the  petticoat. 

Though  she  was  the  mother  of  two  children,  I  have  never 
met  with  any  woman  more  genuinely  maidenly.  Her  expres- 
sion was  so  girlish,  and  at  the  same  time  amazed  and  dreamy, 
that  it  brought  the  eye  back  to  gaze,  as  a  painter  invites  it 
back  to  a  face  in  which  his  genius  has  embodied  a  world  of 
feelings.  Her  visible  qualities,  indeed,  can  only  be  expressed 
by  comparisons.  Do  you  remember  the  wild,  austere  fragrance 
of  a  heath  we  plucked  on  our  way  home  from  the  Villa  Dio- 
dati,  a  flower  you  admired  so  much  for  its  coloring  of  pink 
and  black — then  you  will  understand  how  this  woman  could 
be  elegant  though  so  far  from  the  world,  natural  in  her  expres- 
sions, refining  all  that  came  to  belong  to  her — pink  and  black. 
Her  frame  had  the  green  tenderness  we  admire  in  leaves  but 
just  opened ;  her  mind  had  the  intense  concentration  of  a 
savage's  ;  she  was  a  child  in  feeling  sobered  by  grief,  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  and  an  unwedded  soul. 

She  was  charming  without  artifice  in  her  way  of  sitting 
down,  of  rising,  of  being  silent,  or  of  throwing  out  a  remark. 
Habitually  reserved,  and  vigilant  as  the  sentinel  on  whom  the 
safety  of  all  depends,  ever  on  the  watch  for  disaster,  she  some- 
times smiled  in  a  way  that  betrayed  a  laughing  spirit  buried 
under  the  demeanor  required  by  her  mode  of  life.  Her 
womanly  vanity  had  become  a  mystery  ;  she  inspired  romance 
instead  of  the  gallant  attentions  which  most  women  love  ;  she 
revealed  her  genuine  self,  her  living  fire,  her  blue  dreams,  as 
the  sky  shows  between  the  parting  clouds.  This  involuntary 
self-betrayal  made  a  man  thoughtful,  unless,  indeed,  he  were 
conscious  of  an  unshed  tear,  dried  by  the  fire  of  his  passion. 

The  rareness  of  her  movements,  and  yet  more  of  her  looks — 
for  she  never  looked  at  anybody  but  her  children — gave  in- 
credible solemnity  to  all  she  did  and  said,  when  she  did  or 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  35 

said  a  thing  with  that  manner  which  a  woman  can  assume  if 
she  is  compromising  her  dignity  by  an  avowal. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  was,  on  that  day,  wearing  a  cambric 
gown  with  fine  pink  stripes,  a  collar  with  a  broad  hem,  a  black 
sash  and  black  shoes.  Her  hair  was  simply  twisted  into  a 
knot  and  held  by  a  tortoise-shell  comb. 

There  is  the  promised  sketch.  But  the  constant  emanation 
of  her  spirit  on  all  who  were  about  her,  that  nourishing  element 
diffused  in  waves  as  the  sun  diffuses  its  light,  her  essential 
nature,  her  attitude  in  serene  hours,  her  resignation  in  a  storm, 
all  the' chances -of  life  which  develop  character,  depend,  like 
atmospheric  changes,  on  unexpected  and  transient  circum- 
stances which  have  no  resemblance  to  each  other  excepting  in 
the  background  against  which  they  are  seen.  This  will  inev- 
itably be  depicted  as  part  of  the  incidents  of  this  narrative — a 
true  domestic  epic,  as  great  in  the  sight  of  the  wise  as  tragedies 
are  in  the  eyes  of  the  crowd ;  a  tale  which  will  interest  you, 
both  by  the  part  I  played  in  it  and  by  its  resemblance  to  that 
of  many  a  woman's  destiny. 

Everything  at  Clochegourde  was  characterized  by  English 
neatness.  The  drawing-room  in  which  the  Countess  was 
sitting  was  paneled  throughout  and  painted  in  two  shades  of 
stone  color.  On  the  chimney-shelf  stood  a  clock  in  a  mahogany 
case  surmounted  by  a  tazza,  and  flanked  by  two  large  white- 
and-gold  china  jars  in  which  stood  two  Cape  heaths.  On  the 
console  was  a  lamp ;  in  front  of  the  fireplace  a  backgammon 
board.  Thick  cotton  ropes  looped  back  the  plain  white  calico 
curtains  without  any  trimmings.  Holland  covers,  bound  with 
green  galoon,  were  over  all  the  chairs,  and  the  worsted  work 
stretched  on  the  Countess'  frame  sufficiently  revealed  the 
reason  for  so  carefully  hiding  the  furniture.  This  simplicity 
was  really  dignified.  No  room,  of  all  I  have  seen  since,  has 
ever  filled  me  with  such  a  rush  of  pregnant  impressions  as  I 
then  felt  crowding  on  me  in  that  drawing-room  at  Cloche- 


36  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

gourde — a  room  as  still  and  remote  as  its  mistress'  life,  and 
telling  of  the  monastic  regularity  of  her  occupations.  Most 
of  my  ideas,  even  my  most  daring  flights  in  science  or  in  poli- 
tics, have  had  their  birth  there,  as  perfumes  emanate  from 
flowers;  and  here  grew  the  unknown  plant  which  shed  its 
fertilizing  power  over  me ;  here  glowed  the  solar  heat  which 
developed  all  that  was  good  and  dried  up  all  that  was  bad 
in  me. 

From  the  window  the  view  extended  over  the  valley  from 
the  hill  where  Pont-de-Ruan  lies  scattered,  to  the  chateau  of 
Azay,  and  the  eye  could  follow  the  curves  of  the  opposite 
downs  varied  by  the  turrets  of  Frapesle,  the  church,  village, 
and  manor-house  of  Sache  towering  above  the  meadow-land. 
The  scene,  in  harmony  with  a  peaceful  existence,  unvaried 
by  any  emotions  but  those  of  family  life,  breathed  peace  into 
the  soul.  If  I  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time  here,  between 
the  Comte  de  Mortsauf  and  her  children,  instead  of  discover- 
ing her  in  the  splendor  of  her  ball  dress,  I  could  not  have 
stolen  that  delirious  kiss,  for  which  at  this  moment  I  felt 
some  remorse,  believing  that  it  might  wreck  the  future  pros- 
pects of  my  passion  !  No,  in  the  gloomy  temper  begotten  of 
my  sad  life,  I  should  have  knelt  before  her,  have  kissed  her 
little  shoes,  have  dropped  some  tears  on  them,  and,  without 
trepidation,  fear  or  regret,  have  thrown  myself  into  the 
Indre. 

But,  having  breathed  the  jessamine  freshness  of  her  skin 
and  tasted  the  milk  in  that  cup  of  love,  my  soul  was  filled 
with  longing  and  hope  for  human  joys :  I  would  live,  I  would 
wait  for  the  hour  of  fulfillment  as  a  savage  looks  out  for  the 
moment  of  revenge.  I  longed  to  swing  from  the  branches, 
to  rush  among  the  vines,  to  wallow  in  the  Indre  ;  my  com- 
panions should  be  the  silence  of  the  night,  the  languor  of 
living,  the  heat  of  the  sun,  that  I  might  eat  at  my  leisure  the 
delicious  apple  I  had  bitten  into.  If  she  had  asked  me  for 
the  singing-flower,  or  the  riches  buried  by  Morgan  the  de- 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  37 

stroyer,  I  would  have  found  them  for  her  only  to  obtain  the 
real  riches,  the  speechless  blossom  that  I  longed  for. 

When  I  roused  myself  from  the  dream  into  which  I  had 
been  thrown  by  contemplating  my  idol,  during  which  a  ser- 
vant had  come  in  to  speak  to  her,  I  heard  her  talking  of  the 
Count.  Then  only  did  it  strike  me  that  a  woman  belonged 
to  her  husband.  The  thought  made  my  brain  reel.  I  felt  a 
fierce  but  dreary  curiosity  to  see  the  possessor  of  this  treasure. 
Two  feelings  were  uppermost — hatred  and  fear;  hatred,  which 
recognized  no  obstacle  and  measured  every  difficulty  without 
dread  ;  fear,  vague  indeed  but  genuine,  of  the  coming  strug- 
gle, of  its  result,  and,  above  all,  of  Her.  A  prey  to  inde- 
scribable presentiments,  I  dreaded  the  handshaking  which  is 
so  undignified ;  I  had  visions  of  those  elastic  difficulties 
against  which  the  firmest  will  is  battered  and  blunted ;  I 
feared  the  power  of  inertia,  which  in  our  day  deprives  social 
life  of  the  moments  of  climax  that  passionate  souls  crave  for. 

"  Here  comes  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,"  said  she. 

I  started  to  my  feet  like  a  frightened  horse.  Though  this 
impulse  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  either  Monsieur  de  Ches- 
sel  or  the  Countess,  I  was  spared  any  speechless  comment,  for 
a  diversion  was  effected  by  a  little  girl,  of  about  six  years 
old  as  I  supposed,  who  came  in  saying — 

"Here  is  my  father." 

"Well,  Madeleine?"  said  her  mother. 

The  child  gave  her  hand  to  Monsieur  de  Chessel  when  he 
held  out  his,  and  looked  at  me  fixedly  after  making  an  aston- 
ished little  curtsey. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  her  health?"  said  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  to  the  Countess. 

"She  is  better,"  replied  the  mother,  stroking  the  little 
girl's  hair  as  she  sat  huddled  in  her  lap. 

A  question  from  Monsieur  de  Chessel  taught  me  the  fact  that 
Madeleine  was  nine  years  old ;  I  showed  some  surprise  at  my 
mistake,  and  my  astonishment  brought  a  cloud  to  the  mother's 


38  THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

brow.  My  friend  shot  me  one  of  those  looks  by  which  men 
of  the  world  give  us  a  second  education.  This  was,  no  doubt, 
a  mother's  wound  which  might  not  be  opened  or  touched.  A 
frail  creature,  with  colorless  eyes  and  a  skin  as  white  as  porce- 
lain lighted  from  within,  Madeleine  would  probably  not  have 
lived  in  the  air  of  a  town.  Country  air,  and  the  care  with 
which  her  mother  brooded  over  her,  had  kept  the  flame 
alive  in  a  body  as  delicate  as  a  plant  grown  in  a  hot-house  in 
defiance  of  the  severity  of  a  northern  climate.  Though  she 
was  not  at  all  like  her  mother,  she  seemed  to  have  her  mother's 
spirit,  and  that  sustained  her.  Her  thin,  black  hair,  sunken 
eyes,  hollow  cheeks,  lean  arms,  and  narrow  chest  told  of  a 
struggle  between  life  and  death,  an  unceasing  duel  in  which 
the  Countess  had  hitherto  been  victorious.  The  child  made 
an  effort  to  be  gay,  no  doubt  to  spare  her  mother  suffering  ; 
for  now  and  again,  when  she  was  unobserved,  she  languished 
like  a  weeping-willow.  You  might  have  taken  her  for  a  gypsy 
child  suffering  from  hunger,  who  had  begged  her  way  across 
country,  exhausted  but  brave,  and  dressed  for  her  public. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  Jacques?"  asked  her  mother,  kiss- 
ing her  on  the  white  line  that  parted  her  hair  into  two  bands 
like  a  raven's  wings. 

"  He  is  coming  with  my  father." 

The  Count  at  this  moment  came  in,  leading  his  little  boy 
by  the  hand.  Jacques,  the  very  image  of  his  sister,  showed 
the  same  signs  of  weakliness.  Seeing  these  two  fragile  chil- 
dren by  the  side  of  such  a  magnificently  handsome  mother,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  understand  the  causes  of  the  grief  which 
gave  pathos  to  the  Countess'  brow  and  made  her  silent  as  to 
the  thoughts  which  are  confided  to  God  alone,  but  which 
stamp  terrible  meaning  on  the  forehead.  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf,  as  he  bowed  to  me,  gave  me  a  glance  not  so  much  of 
inquiry  as  of  the  awkward  uneasiness  of  a  man  whose  distrust 
arises  from  his  want  of  practical  observation  and  analysis. 

After  mentioning   my  name,   and  what  had  brought  me 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  39 

thither,  his  wife  gave  him  her  seat  and  left  the  room.  The 
children,  whose  eyes  centred  in  their  mother's  as  if  they 
derived  their  light  from  her,  wanted  to  go  with  her;  she  said, 
"  Stay  here,  my  darlings,"  and  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

They  obeyed,  but  they  looked  sad. 

Oh  !  To  hear  that  word  "darling,"  what  task  might  one 
not  have  undertaken  ?  Like  the  children,  I  felt  chilled  when 
she  was  no  longer  there. 

My  name  changed  the  Count's  impulses  with  regard  to  me. 
From  being  cold  and  supercilious,  he  became,  if  not  affection- 
ate, at  least  politely  pressing,  showed  me  every  mark  of  con- 
sideration, and  seemed  happy  to  see  me.  Long  ago  my  father 
had  devoted  himself  to  play  a  noble  but  inconspicuous  part 
for  our  sovereigns,  full  of  danger,  but  possibly  useful.  When 
all  was  lost,  and  Napoleon  had  climbed  to  the  highest  pin- 
nacle, like  many  secret  conspirators,  he  had  taken  refuge  in 
the  peace  of  a  provincial  life  and  quiet  home,  bowing  before 
accusations  as  cruel  as  they  were  unmerited — the  inevitable 
reward  of  gamblers  who  stake  all  for  all  or  nothing,  and  col- 
lapse after  having  been  the  pivot  of  the  political  machine.  I, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  fortunes,  the  antecedents,  or  the  pros- 
pects of  my  own  family,  was  equally  ignorant  of  the  details 
of  this  forgotten  history  which  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  remem- 
bered. However,  if  the  antiquity  of  my  name,  in  his  eyes 
the  most  precious  hallmark  a  man  could  possess,  might  justify 
a  reception  which  made  me  blush,  I  did  not  know  the  real 
reason  until  later.  For  the  moment  the  sudden  change  put  me 
at  my  ease.  When  the  two  children  saw  that  the  conversa- 
tion was  fairly  started  among  us  three,  Madeleine  slipped  her 
head  from  under  her  father's  hand,  looked  at  the  open  door, 
and  glided  out  like  an  eel,  followed  by  Jacques.  They  joined 
their  mother,  for  I  heard  them  talking  and  trotting  about  in 
the  distance,  like  the  hum  of  bees  around  the  hive  that  is  their 
home. 

I  studied  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  trying  to  guess  at  his 


40  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

character,  but  I  was  so  far  interested  by  some  leading  features 
to  go  no  further  than  a  superficial  examination  of  his  counte- 
nance. Though  he  was  no  more  than  five-and-forty,  he 
looked  nearly  sixty,  so  rapidly  had  he  aged  in  the  general 
wreck  which  closed  the  seventeenth  century.  The  fringe  of 
hair,  like  a  monk's,  which  framed  his  bald  head,  ended  over 
his  ears  in  grizzled  locks  on  his  temples.  His  face  had  a  re- 
mote resemblance  to  that  of  a  white  wolf  with  a  blood-stained 
muzzle,  for  his  nose  was  hot  and  red,  like  that  of  a  man 
whose  constitution  is  undermined,  whose  digestion  is  weak, 
and  his  blood  vitiated  by  early  disease.  His  flat  forehead, 
too  wide  for  a  face  that  ended  in  a  point,  was  furrowed  across 
at  unequal  distances,  the  result  of  an  open-air  life,  and  not  of 
intellectual  labors,  of  constant  ill-fortune,  and  not  of  the 
effort  to  defy  it.  His  cheek-bones,  high  and  sunburnt,  while 
the  rest  of  his  face  was  sallow,  showed  that  his  frame  was  so 
strongly  built  as  to  promise  a  long  life. 

His  bright,  tawny,  hard  eye  fell  on  you  like  winter  sun- 
shine, luminous  without  heat,  restless  without  thought,  dis- 
trustful without  purpose.  His  mouth  was  coarse  and  domi- 
neering, his  chin  long  and  flat. 

He  was  tall  and  thin,  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman  who 
relies  on  a  conventional  standard  of  worth,  who  feels  himself 
superior  to  his  neighbor  by  right,  inferior  in  fact.  The 
easy-going  habits  of  a  country  life  made  him  neglectful  of  his 
person ;  his  clothes  were  those  of  a  country  proprietor, 
regarded  alike  by  the  peasants  and  by  his  neighbors  as  merely 
representing  a  landed  estate.  His  brown,  sinewy  hands 
showed  that  he  never  wore  gloves,  unless  for  riding  or  on 
Sunday  to  go  to  church.  His  shoes  were  clumsy. 

Although  ten  years  of  exile,  and  ten  of  agricultural  life, 
had  thus  affected  his  appearance,  he  still  bore  traces  of  noble 
birth.  The  most  rancorous  Liberal — a  word  not  then  coined 
— would  at  once  have  discerned  in  him  the  chivalrous  loyalty, 
the  unfading  convictions  of  a  constant  reader  of  the  "Quo- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  41 

tidienne,"  and  having  admired  him  as  a  religious  man,  de- 
voted to  his  party,  frank  as  to  his  political  antipathies,  inca- 
pable of  being  personally  serviceable  to  his  side,  very  capable 
of  ruining  it,  and  ignorant  of  the  state  of  affairs  in  France. 
The  Count  was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  upright  men  who  yield 
not  a  jot,  and  obstinately  bar  all  progress,  valuable  to  die 
weapon  in  hand  at  the  post  assigned  to  them,  but  stingy 
enough  to  give  their  life  rather  than  their  money. 

During  dinner  I  detected  in  the  hollows  of  his  faded 
cheeks,  and  in  the  glances  he  stole  at  his  children,  the  traces 
of  certain  importunate  thoughts  which  came  to  die  on  the 
surface.  Who  that  saw  him  could  fail  to  understand  him  ? 
Who  would  not  have  accused  him  of  having  transmitted  to 
his  children  their  lack  of  vitality !  But  even  if  he  blamed 
himself,  he  allowed  no  one  else  the  right  of  condemning 
him.  He  was  as  bitter  as  an  authority  consciously  at  fault, 
but  without  sufficient  magnanimity  or  charm  to  make  up  for 
the  quota  of  suffering  he  had  thrown  into  the  scale ;  and 
that  his  private  life  must  be  full  of  harshness  could  be  seen 
in  his  hard  features  and  ever-watchful  eyes. 

Thus,  when  his  wife  came  back,  with  the  two  children 
clinging  to  her,  I  apprehended  disaster,  as  when  walking 
over  the  vaults  of  a  cellar  the  foot  has  a  sort  of  sense  of 
the  depths  below.  Looking  at  these  four  persons  together, 
looking  at  them,  as  I  did,  each  in  turn,  studying  their 
faces  and  their  attitude  toward  each  other,  thoughts  of 
melancholy  fell  upon  my  heart  as  fine  gray  rain  throws  a 
mist  over  a  fair  landscape  after  a  bright  sunrise. 

When  the  immediate  subject  of  conversation  was  exhausted, 
the  Count  again  spoke  of  me,  overlooking  Monsieur  de  Ches- 
sel,  and  telling  his  wife  various  facts  relating  to  my  family, 
which  were  perfectly  unknown  to  me.  He  asked  me  how  old 
I  was.  When  I  told  him,  the  Countess  repeated  my  start  of 
surprise  at  hearing  the  age  of  her  little  girl.  She  thought  me 
perhaps  about  fourteen.  This,  as  I  afterward  learned,  was  a 


42  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

second  tie  that  bound  her  to  me  so  closely.  I  read  it  in  her 
soul.  Her  motherly  instinct  was  aroused,  enlightened  by  a 
late  sunbeam  which  gave  her  a  hope.  On  seeing  me  at  past 
twenty  so  fragile  and  yet  so  wiry,  a  voice  whispered  to  her  per- 
haps, "  They  will  live  !  "  She  looked  at  me  inquisitively,  and 
I  felt  at  the  moment  that  much  ice  was  melted  between  us. 
She  seemed  to  have  a  thousand  questions  to  ask,  but  reserved 
them  all. 

"  If  you  are  ill  from  overwork,"  said  she,  "  the  air  of  our 
valley  will  restore  you." 

"Modern  education  is  fatal  to  children,"  the  Count  said. 
"We  cram  them  with  mathematics,  we  beat  them  with  ham- 
mers of  science,  and  wear  them  out  before  their  time.  You 
must  rest  here,"  he  went  on.  "  You  are  crushed  under  the 
avalanche  of  ideas  that  has  been  hurled  down  on  you.  What 
an  age  must  we  look  forward  to  after  all  this  teaching  brought 
down  to  the  meanest  capacity,  unless  we  can  forefend  the  evil 
by  placing  education  once  more  in  the  hands  of  religious 
bodies." 

This  speech  was  indeed  the  forerunner  of  what  he  said  one 
day  at  an  election  when  refusing  to  vote  for  a  man  whose 
talents  might  have  done  good  service  to  the  royalist  cause : 
"I  never  trust  a  clever  man,"  said  he  to  the  registrar  of 
votes. 

He  now  proposed  to  take  us  round  the  gardens,  and 
arose. 

"  Monsieur "  said  the  Countess. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  replied,  turning  round  with  a  rough 
haughtiness  that  showed  how  much  he  wished  to  be  master 
in  his  own  house,  and  how  little  he  was  so  at  this  time. 

"  Monsieur  walked  from  Tours  this  morning  ;  Monsieur  de 
Chessel  did  not  know  it,  and  took  him  for  a  walk  in  Fra- 
pesle." 

"You  were  very  rash,"  said  he  to  me,  "  though  at  your 
age ,"  and  he  wagged  his  head  in  token  of  regret. 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  43 

The  conversation  was  then  resumed.  I  very  soon  found 
out  how  perverse  his  royalism  was,  and  what  caution  was 
necessary  to  swim  in  his  waters  without  collisions.  The 
servant,  now  arrayed  in  livery,  announced  dinner.  Monsieur 
de  Chessel  gave  his  arm  to  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  the 
Count  gaily  put  his  hand  in  mine  to  go  to  the  dining- 
room,  which  was  at  the  opposite  end  to  the  drawing-room, 
on  the  same  floor. 

This  room,  floored  with  white  tiles  made  in  the  country, 
and  wainscoted  waist  high,  was  hung  with  a  satin  paper 
divided  into  large  panels  framed  with  borders  of  fruit  and 
flowers  ;  the  window  curtains  were  of  cotton  stuff,  bound 
with  red ;  the  sideboards  were  old  Boule  inlay,  and  the  wood- 
work of  the  chairs,  upholstered  with  needle-work,  was  of 
carved  oak.  The  table,  though  abundantly  spread,  was  not 
luxurious ;  there  was  old  family  plate  of  various  dates  and 
patterns,  Dresden  china — not  yet  in  fashion  again — octagonal 
water  bottles,  agate-handled  knives,  and  bottle  ands  of 
Chinese  lacquer.  But  there  were  flowers  in  varnished  tubs, 
with  notched  and  gilt  rims.  I  was  delighted  with  these  old- 
fashioned  things,  and  I  thought  the  reveillon  paper,  with  its 
flowered  border,  superb. 

The  glee  that  filled  all  my  sails  hindered  me  from  discerning 
the  insuperable  obstacles  placed  between  her  and  me  by  this 
imperturbable  life  of  solitude  in  the  country.  I  sat  by  her, 
at  her  right,  I  poured  out  her  wine  and  water.  Yes!  Un- 
hoped-for joy  !  I  could  touch  her  gown,  I  ate  her  bread. 
Only  three  hours  had  gone  by,  and  my  life  was  mingling  with 
hers  !  And  we  were  bound  together,  too,  by  that  terrible  kiss, 
a  sort  of  secret  which  filled  us  alike  with  shame. 

I  was  defiantly  base ;  I  devoted  myself  to  pleasing  the  Count, 
who  met  all  my  civilities  half-way ;  I  would  have  fondled  the 
dog,  have  been  subservient  to  the  children's  least  whim ;  I 
would  have  brought  them  hoops  or  marbles,  have  been  their 
horse  to  drive;  I  was  only  vexed  that  they  had  not  already 


44  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

taken  possession  of  me  as  a  thing  of  their  own.  Love  has  its 
intuition  as  genius  has,  and  I  dimly  perceived  that  his  violence 
and  surliness  and  hostility  would  be  the  ruin  of  my  hopes. 
This  dinner  was  to  me  a  time  of  exquisite  raptures.  Finding 
myself  under  her  roof,  I  forgot  her  real  coldness  and  the  in- 
difference that  lay  beneath  the  Count's  politeness.  In  love,  as 
in  life,  there  is  a  period  of  full  .growth  where  it  is  self-sufficient. 
I  made  some  blundering  answers,  in  keeping  with  the  secret 
tumult  of  my  passions  ;  but  no  one  could  guess  this,  much  less 
she  who  knew  nothing  of  love.  The  rest  of  the  evening  was 
as  a  dream. 

This  beautiful  dream  came  to  an  end  when,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  in  the  hot  fragrant  night,  I  again  crossed  the  Indre 
amid  the  white  visions  that  hung  over  the  fields  and  shore  and 
hills,  hearing  the  thin,  monotonous  call  on  one  note,  melan- 
choly and  incessant,  at  equal  intervals,  uttered  by  some  tree- 
frog,  of  which  I  know  not  the  scientific  name,  but  which,  since 
that  fateful  day,  I  never  hear  but  with  most  exquisite  and  ex- 
treme delight. 

Here,  again,  though  rather  late,  I  discerned,  as  elsewhere, 
the  stony  insensibility  against  which  all  my  feelings  had  hitherto 
been  blunted  ;  I  wondered  whether  it  would  be  always  thus  ; 
I  believed  myself  to  be  under  some  fatal  influence  ;  the  gloomy 
incidents  of  my  past  life  struggled  with  the  purely  personal 
joys  I  had  just  experienced. 

Before  re-entering  Frapesle,  I  looked  back  at  Clochegourde 
and  saw  below  a  boat,  a  punt  such  as  in  Touraine  is  called  a 
toue,  moored  to  an  ash  tree  and  rocking  in  the  stream.  This 
boat  belonged  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  who  used  it  for  fish- 
ing. 

"Well,"  said  Monsieur  de  Chessel,  when  there  was  no 
danger  of  our  being  overheard,  "  I  need  not  ask  you  if  you 
have  found  the  lady  of  the  beautiful  shoulders.  You  may  be 
congratulated  on  the  welcome  you  received  from  Monsieur 


TUE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  45 

de  Mortsauf.  The  deuce  !  Why,  you  have  taken  the  citadel 
at  a  blow." 

This  speech,  followed  up  by  the  remarks  I  before  mentioned, 
revived  my  downcast  spirit.  I  had  not  spoken  a  word  since 
leaving  Clochegourde,  and  my  host  ascribed  my  silence  to 
happiness. 

"How  so?"  said  I,  with  a  touch  of  irony,  which  might 
have  seemed  to  be  the  outcome  of  restrained  passion. 

"  He  never  in  his  life  received  any  one  so  civilly." 

"  I  may  confess  that  I  was  myself  astounded  at  his  polite- 
ness," said  I,  feeling  what  bitterness  lay  behind  his  words. 

Though  I  was  too  much  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of  the 
world  to  understand  the  cause  of  Monsieur  de  Chessel's  animus, 
I  was  struck  by  the  tone  which  betrayed  it.  My  host  was  so 
unlucky  as  to  be  named  Durand,  and  he  made  himself  ridicu- 
lous by  renouncing  his  father's  name — that  of  a  noted  manu- 
facturer who  had  made  an  immense  fortune  during  the  revo- 
lution, and  whose  wife  was  the  sole  heiress  of  the  Chessel 
family,  an  old  connection  of  lawyers  risen  from  the  citizen 
class  under  Henry  IV.,  like  most  of  the  Paris  magistracy. 

Monsieur  de  Chessel,  ambitious  of  the  highest  flight,  wished 
to  kill  the  primitive  Durand  to  attain  to  the  realms  he  dreamed 
of.  He  first  called  himself  Durand  de  Chessel,  then  D.  de 
Chessel,  then  he  was  Monsieur  de  Chessel.  After  the  restor- 
ation he  endowed  an  entail  with  the  title  of  Count  under 
letters-patent  granted  by  Louis  XVIII.  His  children  culled 
the  fruits  of  his  audacity  without  knowing  its  magnitude.  A 
speech  made  by  a  certain  satirical  prince  long  clung  to  his 
heels :  "  Monsieur  de  Chessel  generally  has  something  of  the 
Durand  about  him,"  said  his  highness.  And  this  witticism 
was  long  a  joy  in  Touraine. 

Parvenues  are  like  monkeys,  and  not  less  dexterous.  Seen 
from  above  we  admire  their  agility  in  climbing  ;  but  when 
they  have  reached  the  top,  nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  their 
more  shameful  side.  The  wrong  side  of  my  entertainer  was 


46  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

made  of  meanness  puffed  up  with  envy.  He  and  a  peer- 
age are  to  this  day  points  that  cannot  meet.  To  be  pre- 
tentious and  justify  it  is  the  insolence  of  strength ;  but  a 
man  who  is  beneath  the  pretentions  he  owns  to  is  in  a  con- 
stantly ridiculous  position,  which  affords  a  feast  to  petty 
minds.  Now,  Monsieur  de  Chessel  has  never  walked  in  the 
straight  path  of  a  strong  man ;  he  has  twice  been  elected 
deputy,  twice  rejected  of  the  electors ;  one  day  director-gen- 
eral, the  next  nothing  at  all,  not  even  prefet ;  and  his  suc- 
cesses and  defeats  have  spoiled  his  temper  and  given  him  the 
acrid  greed  of  an  ambitious  failure.  Though  a  fine  fellow, 
intelligent,  and  capable  of  high  achievement,  the  spirit  of 
envy  perhaps — which  gives  zest  to  existence  in  Touraine, 
where  the  natives  waste  their  brains  in  jealous  spite — was  fatal 
to  him  in  the  higher  social  spheres,  where  faces  that  frown  at 
others'  fortune  are  rarely  popular,  or  sulky  lips  unready  to 
pay  compliments  but  apt  at  sarcasm.  If  he  had  wished  for 
less,  he  might  perhaps  have  gained  more;  but  he,  unfortu- 
nately, was  always  proud  enough  to  insist  on  walking  upright. 

At  the  time  of  my  visit,  Monsieur  de  Chessel  was  in  the 
dawn  of  his  ambition,  royalism  smiled  on  him.  He  affected 
grand  airs,  perhaps,  but  to  me  he  was  the  perfection  of  kind- 
ness. I  liked  him,  too,  for  a  very  simple  reason  :  under  his 
roof  I  found  peace  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  The  interest 
he  took  in  me — little  enough  I  dare  say — seemed  to  me,  the 
hapless  outcast  of  my  family,  a  model  of  paternal  affection. 
The  attentions  of  hospitality  formed  such  a  contrast  with  the 
indifference  that  had  hitherto  crushed  me,  that  I  showed 
childlike  gratitude  for  being  allowed  to  live  unfettered  and 
almost  petted.  The  owners  of  Frapesle  are  indeed  so  inti- 
mately part  of  the  dawn  of  my  happiness  that  they  dwell  in  my 
mind  with  the  memories  I  love  to  live  in.  At  a  later  time, 
in  the  very  matter  of  the  King's  letters-patent,  I  had  the 
satisfaction  of  doing  my  host  some  little  service. 

Monsieur  de  Chessel  spent  his  fortune  with  an  amount  of 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  47 

display  that  aggrieved  some  of  his  neighbors ;  he  could  buy 
fine  horses  and  smart  carriages ;  his  wife  dressed  handsomely ; 
he  entertained  splendidly ;  his  servants  were  more  numerous 
than  the  manners  of  the  country  demand ;  he  affected  the 
princely.  The  estate  of  Frapesle  is  vast. 

So,  as  compared  with  his  neighbor,  and  in  the  face  of  all  this 
magnificence,  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf,  reduced  to  the  family 
coach,  which  in  Touraine  is  a  cross  between  a  mail-cart  and  a 
post-chaise,  compelled,  too,  by  his  lack  of  fortune,  to  make 
Clochegourde  pay,  was  a  tourangeau,  a  mere  gentleman  farmer, 
until  the  day  when  royal  favor  restored  his  family  to  unhoped- 
for dignity.  The  welcome  he  had  extended  to  me,  the  younger 
son  of  an  impoverished  family,  whose  coat-of-arms  dates  from 
the  Crusades,  had  been  calculated  to  throw  contempt  on  the 
wealth,  the  woods,  the  farms  and  meadows  of  his  neighbor,  a 
man  of  no  birth. 

Monsieur  de  Chessel  had  quite  understood  the  Count.  In- 
deed, their  intercourse  had  always  been  polite,  but  without 
the  daily  exchange,  the  friendly  intimacy  which  might  have 
existed  between  Clochegourde  and  Frapesle,  two  domains 
divided  only  by  the  river,  and  whose  mistresses  could  signal 
to  each  other  from  their  windows. 

Jealousy,  however,  was  not  the  only  reason  for  the  Comte 
de  Mortsaufs  solitary  life.  His  early  education  had  been 
that  given  to  most  boys  of  good  family — an  insufficient  and 
superficial  smattering,  on  which  were  grafted  the  lessons  of 
the  world,  court  manners,  and  the  exercise  of  high  court 
functions,  or  some  position  of  dignity.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
had  emigrated  just  when  this  second  education  should  have 
begun,  and  so  missed  it.  He  was  one  of  those  who  believed 
in  the  early  restoration  of  the  monarchy  in  France ;  in  this  con- 
viction he  had  spent  the  years  of  exile  in  lamentable  idleness. 
Then,  when  Conde's  army  was  broken  up,  after  the  Count's 
courage  had  marked  him  as  one  of  its  most  devoted  soldiers, 
he  still  counted  on  returning  ere  long  with  the  white  standard, 


48  THE   LILY  Of  THE    VALLEY. 

and  never  attempted,  like  many  of  the  emigres,  to  lead  an 
industrious  life.  Perhaps  he  could  not  bear  to  renounce  his 
name  in  order  to  earn  his  bread  in  the  sweat  of  the  toil  he 
despised. 

His  hopes,  always  held  over  till  the  morrow,  and  a  sense  of 
honor,  too,  kept  him  from  engaging  in  the  service  of  a  foreign 
power. 

Suffering  undermined  his  strength.  Long  expeditions  on 
foot  without  sufficient  food,  and  hopes  for  ever  deceived,  in- 
jured his  health  and  discouraged  his  spirit.  By  degrees  his 
poverty  became  extreme.  Though  to  some  men  misfortune  is 
a  tonic,  there  are  others  to  whom  it  is  destruction,  and  the 
Count  was  one  of  these.  When  I  think  of  this  unhappy 
gentleman  of  Touraine,  wandering  and  sleeping  on  the  high- 
roads in  Hungary,  sharing  a  quarter  of  a  sheep  with  Prince 
Esterhazy's  shepherds — from  whom  the  traveler  could  beg  a 
loaf  which  the  gentleman  would  not  have  accepted  from  their 
master,  and  which  he  many  a  time  refused  at  the  hands  of  the 
foes  of  France — I  could  never  harbor  a  bitter  feeling  against 
the  emigre,  not  even  when  I  saw  him  ridiculous  in  his  day  of 
triumph. 

Monsieur  de  MortsauPs  white  hair  had  spoken  to  me  of 
terrible  sufferings,  and  I  sympathize  with  all  exiles  too  strongly 
to  condemn  them.  The  Count's  cheerfulness — Frenchman 
and  tourangeau  as  he  was — quite  broke  down ;  he  became 
gloomy,  fell  ill,  and  was  nursed  out  of  charity  in  some  Ger- 
man asylum.  His  malady  was  inflammation  of  the  mesentery, 
which  often  proves  fatal,  and  which,  if  cured,  brings  in  its 
train  a  capricious  temper  and  almost  always  hypochondria. 
His  amours,  buried  in  the  most  secret  depths  of  his  soul,  where 
I  alone  ever  unearthed  them,  were  of  a  debasing  character, 
and  not  only  marred  his  life  at  the  time,  but  ruined  it  for  the 
future. 

After  twelve  years'  misery,  he  came  back  to  France,  whither 
Napoleon's  decree  enabled  him  to  return.  When,  as  he 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  49 

crossed  the  Rhine  on  foot,  he  saw  the  steeple  of  Strasbourg 
one  fine  summer  evening,  he  fainted  away.  "  '  France  ! 
France ! '  I  cried.  '  This  is  France !  '  as  a  child  cries  out 
'  Mother  !  '  when  it  is  hurt,"  he  told  me. 

Born  to  riches,  he  was  now  poor ;  born  to  lead  a  regiment 
or  govern  the  state,  he  had  no  authority,  no  prospects ;  born 
healthy  and  robust,  he  came  home  sick  and  worn  out.  Bereft 
of  education  in  a  country  where  men  and  things  had  been 
growing,  without  interest  of  any  kind,  he  found  himself  desti- 
tute even  of  physical  and  moral  strength.  His  want  of  for- 
tune made  his  name  a  burden  to  him.  His  unshaken  convic- 
tions, his  former  attachment  to  Conde,  his  woes,  his  memories, 
his  ruined  health,  had  given  him  a  touchy  susceptibility, 
which  was  likely  to  find  small  mercy  in  France,  the  land  of 
banter.  Half-dead,  he  got  as  far  as  le  Maine,  where,  by  some 
accident,  due  perhaps  to  the  civil  war,  the  revolutionary 
government  had  forgotten  to  sell  a  farm  of  considerable 
extent,  which  the  farmer  in  possession  had  clung  to,  declaring 
that  it  was  his  own. 

When  the  Lenoncourt  family,  living  at  Givry,  a  chateau 
not  far  from  this  farm,  heard  that  the  Comte  de  Mortsauf  had 
come  back,  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  went  to  offer  him  shelter 
at  Givry  till  he  should  have  time  to  arrange  his  residence. 
The  Lenoncourts  were  splendidly  generous  to  the  Count,  who 
recovered  his  strength  through  several  months'  stay  with 
them,  making  every  effort  to  disguise  his  sufferings  during  this 
first  interval  of  peace.  The  Lenoncourts  had  lost  their  enor- 
mous possessions.  So  far  as  name  was  concerned,  the  Comte 
de  Mortsauf  was  a  suitable  match  for  their  daughter;  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Lenoncourt,  far  from  being  averse  to  marry- 
ing a  man  of  five-and-thirty,  old  and  ailing  for  his  age,  seemed 
quite  content.  Her  marriage  would  allow  her  to  live  with 
her  aunt,  the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil  (sister  to  the  Prince  de 
Blamont-Chauvry),  who  was  a  second  mother  to  the  girl. 

As  the  intimate  friend  of  the  Duchesse  de  Bourbon,  Madame 
4 


50  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

de  Verneuil  was  one  of  a  saintly  circle,  whose  soul  was  Mon- 
sieur de  Saint-Martin,  born  in  Touraine,  and  known  as  le  Phi- 
losophe  inconnu  (the  unrecognized  philosopher).  The  disciples 
of  this  philosopher  practiced  the  virtues  inculcated  by  the 
lofty  speculations  of  mystical  Illuminism.  This  doctrine  gives 
a  key  to  the  supernal  worlds,  accounts  for  life  by  a  series  of 
transmigrations  through  which  man  makes  his  way  to  sublime 
destinies,  releases  duty  from  its  degradation  by  the  law,  views 
the  woes  of  life  with  the  placid  fortitude  of  the  Quaker,  and 
enjoins  contempt  of  pain,  by  infusing  a  mysterious  maternal 
regard  for  the  angel  within  us  which  we  must  bear  up  to 
heaven.  It  is  stoicism  looking  for  future  life.  Earnest  prayer 
and  pure  love  are  the  elements  of  this  creed,  which,  born  in 
the  Catholicism  of  the  Roman  Church,  reverts  to  the  bosom 
of  primitive  Christianity. 

Mademoiselle  de  Lenoncourt  remained  attached,  however, 
to  the  apostolic  church,  to  which  her  aunt  was  equally  faithful. 
Cruelly  tried  by  the  storms  of  the  revolution,  the  Duchesse  de 
Verneuil  had,  toward  the  close  of  her  life,  assumed  a  hue  of 
impassioned  piety  which  overflowed  into  the  soul  of  her  be- 
loved niece  with  "  the  light  of  heavenly  love  and  the  oil  of 
spiritual  joy,"  to  use  the  words  of  Saint-Martin.  This  man 
of  peace  and  virtuous  learning  was  several  times  the  Countess' 
guest  at  Clochegourde  after  her  aunt's  death  ;  to  her  he  had 
been  a  constant  visitor.  When  staying  at  Clochegourde, 
Saint-Martin  could  superintend  the  printing  of  his  latest  works 
by  Letourney  of  Tours. 

Madame  de  Verneuil,  with  the  inspiration  of  wisdom  that 
comes  to  old  women  who  have  experienced  the  storms  of  life, 
gave  Clochegourde  to  the  young  wife  that  she  might  have  a 
home  of  her  own.  With  the  good  grace  of  old  people — 
which,  when  they  are  gracious,  is  perfection — she  surrendered 
the  whole  house  to  her  niece,  reserving  only  one  room,  over 
that  she  had  formerly  used,  which  was  taken  by  the  Countess. 
Her  almost  sudden  death  cast  a  shroud  over  the  joys  of  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  51 

united  household,  and  left  a  permanent  tinge  of  sadness  on 
Clochegourde  as  well  as  on  the  young  wife's  superstitious  soul. 
The  early  days  of  her  married  life  in  Touraine  were  to  the 
Countess  the  only  period,  not  indeed  of  happiness,  but  of 
light-heartedness  in  all  her  life. 

After  the  miseries  of  his  life  in  exile,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf, 
thankful  to  foresee  a  sheltered  existence  in  the  future,  went 
through  a  sort  of  healing  of  the  spirit ;  he  inhaled  in  this 
valley  the  intoxicating  fragrance  of  blossoming  hope.  Being 
obliged  to  consider  ways  and  means,  he  threw  himself  into 
agricultural  enterprise,  and  at  first  found  some  delight  in  it ; 
but  Jacques'  birth  came  like  a  lightning  stroke,  blighting  the 
present  and  the  future;  the  physician  pronounced  that  the 
child  could  not  live.  The  Count  carefully  concealed  this 
sentence  of  doom  from  his  wife;  then  he  himself  consulted  a 
doctor,  and  had  none  but  crushing  answers,  confirmed  as  to 
their  purport  by  Madeleine's  birth. 

These  two  events,  and  a  sort  of  inward  conviction  as  to  the 
inevitable  end,  added  to  the  Count's  ill-health.  His  name 
extinct ;  his  young  wife,  pure  and  blameless  but  unhappy  in 
her  marriage,  doomed  to  the  anxieties  of  motherhood  without 
knowing  its  joys — all  this  humus  of  his  past  life,  filled  with 
the  germs  of  fresh  sufferings,  fell  on  his  heart  and  crowned 
his  misery. 

The  Countess  read  the  past  in  the  present,  and  foresaw  the 
future.  Though  there  is  nothing  so  difficult  as  to  make  a  man 
happy  who  feels  where  he  has  failed,  the  Countess  attempted 
the  task  worthy  of  an  angel.  In  one  day  she  became  a  stoic. 
After  descending  into  the  abyss  whence  she  could  still  see  the 
heavens,  she  devoted  herself,  for  one  man,  to  the  mission 
which  a  sister  of  charity  undertakes  for  the  sake  of  all;  and 
to  reconcile  him  with  himself,  she  forgave  him  what  he  could 
not  forgive  himself.  The  Count  grew  avaricious,  she  accepted 
the  consequent  privations ;  he  dreaded  being  imposed  upon, 
as  men  do  whose  knowledge  of  the  world  has  filled  them  with 


52  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

repulsions,  and  she  resigned  herself  to  solitude  and  to  his  dis- 
trust of  men  without  a  murmur ;  she  used  all  a  woman's  wiles 
to  make  him  wish  for  what  was  right,  and  he  thus  credited 
himself  with  ideas  and  enjoyed  in  his  home  the  pleasures  of 
superiority  which  he  could  not  have  known  elsewhere. 

Finally,  having  inured  herself  to  the  path  of  married  life, 
she  determined  never  to  leave  her  home  at  Clochegourde;  for 
she  perceived  in  her  husband  a  hysterical  nature  whose  eccen- 
tricities, in  a  neighborhood  so  full  of  envy  and  gossip,  might 
be  interpreted  to  the  injury  of  their  children.  Thus  nobody 
had  a  suspicion  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  incapacity  and 
aberrations ;  she  had  clothed  the  ruin  with  a  thick  hanging 
of  ivy.  The  Count's  uncertain  temper,  not  so  much  discon- 
tented as  malcontent,  found  in  his  wife  a  soft  and  soothing 
bed  on  which  it  might  repose,  its  secret  sufferings  alleviated 
by  cooling  dews. 

This  sketch  is  a  mere  outline  of  the  facts  repeated  by  Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel  under  the  promptings  of  private  spite.  His 
experience  of  the  world  had  enabled  him  to  unravel  some  of 
the  mysteries  lurking  at  Clochegourde.  But  though  Madame 
de  Mortsauf's  sublime  attitude  might  deceive  the  world,  it 
could  not  cheat  the  alert  wits  of  love. 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  my  little  bedroom,  an  intui- 
tion of  the  truth  made  me  start  up  in  bed.  I  could  not 
endure  to  be  at  Frapesle  when  I  might  be  gazing  at  the 
windows  of  her  room.  I  dressed  myself,  stole  downstairs, 
and  got  out  of  the  house  by  a  side-door  in  a  tower  where 
there  was  a  spiral  stair.  The  fresh  night  air  composed  my 
spirit.  I  crossed  the  Indre  by  the  Moulin-Rouge  bridge,  and 
presently  got  into  the  heaven-sent  little  boat  opposite  Cloche- 
gourde, where  a  light  shone  in  the  end  window  toward  Azay. 

Here  I  fell  back  on  my  old  dreams,  but  peaceful  now,  and 
soothed  by  the  warbling  of  the  songster  of  lovers'  nights  and 
the  single  note  of  the  reed-warbler.  Ideas  stole  through  my 
brain  like  ghosts,  sweeping  away  the  clouds  which  till  now 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  53 

had  darkened  the  future.  My  mind  and  senses  alike  were 
under  the  spell.  With  what  passion  did  my  longing  go  forth 
to  her !  How  many  times  did  I  repeat,  like  a  madman, 
"Will  she  be  mine?" 

If,  during  the  last  few  days,  the  universe  had  expanded 
before  me,  now,  in  one  night,  it  gained  a  centre.  All  my 
will,  all  my  ambitions  were  bound  up  in  her;  I  longed  to  be 
all  I  might  for  her  sake  and  to  fill  and  heal  her  aching  heart. 
How  lovely  was  that  night  spent  below  her  window,  in  the 
midst  of  murmurous  waters,  plashing  over  the  mill-wheels, 
and  broken  by  the  sound  of  the  clock  at  Sache  as  it  told  the 
hours.  In  that  night,  so  full  of  radiance,  when  that  starry 
flower  illumined  my  life,  I  plighted  my  soul  to  her  with  the 
faith  of  the  hapless  Castilian  knight  whom  we  laugh  at  in 
Cervantes — the  faith  of  the  beginnings  of  love. 

At  the  first  streak  of  dawn  in  the  sky,  the  first  piping  bird, 
I  fled  to  the  park  of  Frapesle ;  no  early  country  yokel  saw 
me,  no  one  suspected  my  escapade,  and  I  slept  till  the  bell 
rang  for  breakfast. 

Notwithstanding  the  heat,  when  breakfast  was  over  I  went 
down  to  the  meadow  to  see  the  Indre  and  its  islets  once  more, 
the  valley  and  its  downs  of  which  I  professed  myself  an  ardent 
admirer  ;  but,  with  a  swiftness  of  foot  which  might  defy  that 
of  a  runaway  horse,  I  went  back  to  my  boat,  my  willows,  and 
my  Clochegourde.  All  was  still  and  quivering,  as  the  country 
is  at  noon.  The  motionless  foliage  was  darkly  defined  against 
the  blue  sky ;  such  insects  as  live  in  sunshine — green  dragon- 
flies  and  iridescent  flies — hovered  round  the  ash  trees  and 
over  the  reeds ;  the  herds  chewed  the  cud  in  the  shade,  the 
red  earth  glowed  in  the  vineyards,  and  snakes  wriggled  over 
the  banks.  What  a  change  in  the  landscape  that  I  had  left  so 
cool  and  coy  before  going  to  sleep  ! 

On  a  sudden  I  leaped  out  of  the  punt,  and  went  up  the 
road  to  come  down  behind  Clochegourde,  for  I  fancied  I  had 


54  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

seen  the  Count  come  out.  I  was  not  mistaken  ;  he  was 
skirting  a  hedge,  going  no  doubt  toward  a  gate  opening  on 
to  the  Azay  road  by  the  side  of  the  river. 

"  How  are  you  this  morning,  Monsieur  le  Comte?" 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  pleased  expression.  He  did  not 
often  hear  himself  thus  addressed. 

"  Quite  well,"  said  he.  "  You  must  be  very  fond  of  the 
country  to  walk  out  in  this  heat?  " 

"  Was  I  not  sent  here  to  live  in  the  open  air?  " 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  come  and  see  them  reaping  my 
rye?" 

"With  pleasure,"  said  I.  "But  I  am,  I  must  confess  to 
you,  deplorably  ignorant.  I  do  not  know  rye  from  wheat,  nor 
a  poplar  from  an  aspen ;  I  know  nothing  of  field-work,  nor  of 
the  ways  of  tilling  the  land." 

"Well,  then,  come  along,"  said  he  gleefully,  turning  back 
by  the  hedge.  "  Come  by  the  little  upper  gate." 

He  walked  along  inside  the  hedge,  and  I  outside. 

"  You  will  never  learn  anything  from  Monsieur  de  Chessel," 
said  he ;  "  he  is  much  too  fine  a  gentleman  to  trouble  him- 
self beyond  looking  through  his  steward's  accounts." 

So  he  showed  me  his  yards  and  outbuildings,  his  flower- 
garden,  orchards,  and  kitchen-gardens.  Finally,  he  led  me 
along  the  avenue  of  acacias  and  ailanthus  on  the  river-bank, 
where,  at  the  further  end,  I  saw  Madame  de  Mortsauf  and 
the  two  children. 

A  woman  looks  charming  under  the  play  of  the  frittered, 
quivering  tracery  of  leaves.  Somewhat  surprised,  no  doubt, 
by  my  early  visit,  she  did  not  move,  knowing  that  we  should 
go  to  her.  The  Count  bid  me  admire  the  view  of  the 
valley,  which,  from  thence,  wore  quite  a  different  aspect 
from  any  I  had  seen  from  the  heights.  You  might  have 
thought  yourself  in  a  corner  of  Switzerland.  The  meadow- 
land,  channeled  by  the  brooks  that  tumble  into  the  Indre, 
stretches  far  into  the  distance,  and  is  lost  in  mist.  On  the 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  55 

side  toward  Montvazon  spreads  a  wide  extent  of  verdure ; 
everywhere  else  the  eye  is  checked  by  hills,  clumps  of  trees, 
and  rocks. 

We  hastened  our  steps  to  greet  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  who 
suddenly  dropped  the  book  in  which  Madeleine  was  reading, 
and  took  Jacques  on  her  knee,  in  a  fit  of  spasmodic  coughing. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  Count,  turning  pale. 

"  He  has  a  relaxed  throat,"  said  the  mother,  who  did  not 
seem  to  see  me  ;  "  it  will  be  nothing." 

She  was  supporting  his  head  and  his  back,  and  from  her 
eyes  shot  two  rays  that  infused  life  into  the  poor  feeble  boy. 

"You  are  extraordinarily  rash,"  said  the  Count  sharply; 
"  you  expose  him  to  a  chill  from  the  river  and  let  him  sit  on 
a  stone  bench  !  " 

"But,  father,  the  bench  is  burning,"  cried  Madeleine. 

"  They  were  stifling  up  above,"  said  the  Countess. 

"Women  will  always  be  in  the  right!"  said  he,  turning 
to  me. 

To  avoid  encouraging  or  offending  him  by  a  look  I  gazed 
at  Jacques,  who  complained  of  a  pain  in  his  throat,  and  his 
mother  carried  him  away.  As  she  went,  she  could  hear  her 
husband  say — 

"When  a  mother  has  such  sickly  children,  she  ought  to 
know  how  to  take  care  of  them." 

Hideously  unjust,  but  his  self-conceit  prompted  him  to 
justify  himself  at  his  wife's  expense. 

The  Countess  flew  on,  up  slopes  and  steps ;  she  disappeared 
through  the  glazed  door. 

Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  seated  himself  on  the  bench, 
his  head  bent,  lost  in  thought ;  my  position  was  intolerable ; 
he  neither  looked  at  me  nor  spoke.  Good-by  to  the  walk 
during  which  I  meant  to  make  such  way  in  his  good  graces. 
I  cannot  remember  ever  in  my  life  to  have  spent  a  more  horri- 
ble quarter  of  an  hour.  I  was  bathed  in  perspiration  as  I 
considered — 


56  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"  Shall  I  leave  him  ?     Shall  I  stay  ?  " 

How  many  gloomy  thoughts  must  have  filled  his  brain  to 
make  him  forget  to  go  and  inquire  how  Jacques  was !  Sud- 
denly he  arose  and  came  up  to  me.  We  turned  together  to 
look  at  the  smiling  scene. 

"  We  will  put  off  our  walk  until  another  day,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,"  I  said  gently. 

"Nay,  let  us  go,"  said  he.  "I  am,  unfortunately,  used 
to  see  such  attacks — and  I  would  give  my  life  without  a  regret 
to  save  the  child's." 

"Jacques  is  better  now,  my  dear;  he  is  asleep,"  said  the 
golden  voice.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  appeared  at  the  end  of 
the  walk ;  she  had  come  back  without  rancor  or  bitterness, 
and  she  returned  my  bow.  "  I  am  pleased  to  see  that  you 
like  Clochegourde,"  she  said  to  me. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  go  on  horseback  to  fetch  Monsieur 
Deslandes,  my  dear?"  said  he,  with  an  evident  desire  to  win 
forgiveness  for  his  injustice. 

"Do  not  be  anxious,"  replied  she.  "Jacques  did  not 
sleep  last  night,  that  is  all.  The  child  is  very  nervous  ;  he 
had  a  bad  dream,  and  I  spent  the  time  telling  him  stories  to 
send  him  to  sleep  again.  His  cough  is  entirely  nervous.  I 
have  soothed  it  with  a  gum  lozenge,  and  he  has  fallen  asleep." 

"Poor  dear!"  said  he,  taking  her  hand  in  both  his,  and 
looking  at  her  with  moistened  eyes.  "  I  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"  Why  worry  you  about  trifles  ?  Go  and  look  at  your  rye. 
You  know  that  if  you  are  not  on  the  spot  the  farmers  will  let 
gleaners  who  do  not  belong  to  the  place  clear  the  fields  before 
the  sheaves  are  carried." 

"  I  am  going  to  take  my  first  lesson  in  farming,  madame," 
said  I. 

"You  have  come  to  a  good  master,"  replied  she,  looking 
at  the  Count,  whose  lips  were  pursed  into  the  prim  smile  of 
satisfaction  commonly  known  as  la  bouche  en  coeur  (kiss-lips). 

Not  until  two  months  later  did  I  know  that  she  had  spent 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  57 

that  night  in  dreadful  anxiety,  fearing  that  her  son  had  the 
croup.  And  I  was  in  the  punt,  softly  lulled  by  dreams  of 
love,  fancying  that  from  her  window  she  might  see  me  adoring 
the  light  of  the  taper  which  shone  on  her  brow  furrowed  by 
mortal  fears. 

As  we  reached  the  gate,  the  Count  said  in  a  voice  full  of 
emotion,  "  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  an  angel  !  " 

The  words  staggered  me.  I  knew  the  family  but  slightly 
as  yet,  and  the  natural  remorse  that  comes  over  a  youthful 
soul  in  such  circumstances  cried  out  to  me — 

"  What  right  have  you  to  disturb  this  perfect  peace?  " 

The  Count,  enchanted  to  have  for  his  audience  a  youth 
over  whom  he  could  so  cheaply  triumph,  began  talking  of 
the  future  prospects  of  France  under  the  return  of  the  Bour- 
bons. We  chatted  discursively,  and  I  was  greatly  surprised 
at  the  strangely  childish  things  he  said.  He  was  ignorant  of 
facts  as  well  proven  as  geometry ;  he  was  suspicious  of  well- 
informed  persons ;  he  had  no  belief  in  superiority  ;  he  laughed 
at  progress,  not  perhaps  without  reason  ;  and  I  found  in  him 
a  vast  number  of  sensitive  chords  compelling  me  to  take  so 
much  care  not  to  wound  him  that  a  long  conversation  was  a 
labor  to  the  mind.  When  I  had  thus  laid  a  finger  on  his 
failings,  I  felt  my  way  with  as  much  pliancy  as  the  Countess 
showed  in  coaxing  them.  At  a  later  stage  of  my  life  I  should 
undoubtedly  have  fretted  him ;  but  I  was  as  timid  as  a  child, 
and  thinking  that  I  myself  knew  nothing,  or  that  men  of 
experience  knew  everything,  I  was  amazed  at  the  wonders 
worked  at  Clochegourde  by  this  patient  husbandman.  I 
heard  his  plans  with  admiration.  Finally — a  piece  of  invol- 
untary flattery  which  won  me  the  good  gentleman's  affections 
— I  envied  him  this  pretty  estate  so  beautifully  situated,  as  an 
earthly  paradise  far  superior  to  Frapesle,  the  demesne  of  de 
Chessel. 

"  Frapesle,"  said  I,  "  is  a  massive  piece  of  plate,  but  Cloche- 
gourde  is  a  casket  of  precious  gems." 


58  THE    LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

A  speech  that  he  constantly  repeated,  quoting  me  as  the 
author. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "before  we  came  here  it  was  a  wilder- 
ness." 

I  was  all  ears  when  he  talked  of  his  crops  and  nursery 
plantations.  New  to  a  country  life,  I  overwhelmed  him 
with  questions  as  to  the  price  of  things  and  the  processes  of 
agriculture,  and  he  seemed  delighted  to  have  to  tell  me  so 
much. 

"What  on  earth  do  they  teach  you?"  he  asked  in  sur- 
prise. 

And  on  that  very  first  day,  on  going  in,  he  whispered  to  his 
wife — 

"  Monsieur  Felix  is  a  charming  young  fellow." 

In  the  afternoon  I  wrote  to  my  mother  to  tell  her  I  should 
remain  at  Frapesle,  and  begged  her  to  send  me  clothes  and 
linen. 

Knowing  nothing  of  the  great  revolution  that  was  going 
on,  and  of  the  influence  it  was  to  exert  over  my  destinies,  I 
supposed  that  I  should  return  to  Paris  to  finish  my  studies, 
and  the  law  schools  would  not  reopen  till  early  in  November; 
so  I  had  two  months  and  a  half  before  me. 

During  the  first  days  of  my  stay  I  tried  in  vain  to  attach 
myself  to  the  Count,  and  it  was  a  time  of  painful  shocks.  J 
detected  in  this  man  a  causeless  irritability  and  a  swiftness  to 
act  in  cases  that  were  hopeless  which  frightened  me.  Now 
and  then  there  were  sudden  resuscitations  of  the  brave  gen- 
tleman who  had  fought  so  well  under  Conde,  parabolic  flashes 
of  a  will  which,  in  a  day  of  critical  moment,  might  tear 
through  policy  like  a  bursting  shell,  and  which  in  some  oppor- 
tunity for  resolution  and  courage  may  make  an  Elb6e,  a 
Bonchamp,  a  Charette  of  a  man  condemned  to  live  on  his 
acres.  The  mere  mention  of  certain  possibilities  would  make 
his  nose  quiver  and  his  brow  clear,  while  his  eyes  flashed 
lightnings  that  at  once  died  out.  I  feared  lest  Monsieur 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  59 

de  Mortsauf,  if  he  should  read  the  language  of  my  eyes, 
might  kill  me  on  the  spot. 

At  this  period  of  my  life  I  was  only  tender;  will,  which 
affects  a  man  so  strangely,  was  but  just  dawning  in  me.  My 
vehement  longing  had  given  me  a  swiftly  responsive  sensi- 
tiveness that  was  like  a  thrill  of  fear.  I  did  not  tremble  at 
the  prospect  of  a  struggle,  but  I  did  not  want  to  die  till  I  had 
known  the  happiness  of  reciprocated  love.  My  difficulties 
and  my  desires  grew  in  parallel  lines. 

How  can  I  describe  my  feelings  ?  I  was  a  prey  to  heart- 
rending perplexities.  I  hoped  for  a  chance,  I  watched  for  it ; 
I  made  friends  with  the  children,  and  won  them  to  love  me ; 
I  tried  to  identify  myself  with  the  interests  of  the  house- 
hold. 

By  degrees  the  Count  was  less  on  his  guard  in  my  presence ; 
then  I  learned  to  know  his  sudden  changes  of  temper,  his  fits 
of  utter,  causeless  dejection,  his  gusts  of  rebelliousness,  his 
bitter  and  harsh  complaining,  his  impulses  of  controlled  mad- 
ness, his  childish  whining,  his  groans  as  of  a  man  in  despair, 
his  unexpected  rages.  Moral  nature  differs  from  physical 
nature,  inasmuch  as  nothing  in  it  is  final.  The  intensity  of 
effect  is  in  proportion  to  the  character  acted  on,  or  to  the 
ideas  that  may  be  associated  with  an  action.  My  continuing 
at  Clochegourde,  my  whole  future  life  depended  on  this  fan- 
tastic will. 

I  could  never  express  to  you  the  anguish  that  weighed  on 
my  soul — as  ready  at  that  time  to  expand  as  to  shrink — when 
on  going  in  I  said  to  myself,  "How  will  he  receive  me?" 
What  anxious  fears  crushed  my  heart  when  I  descried  a  storm 
lowering  on  that  snow-crowned  brow  !  I  was  perpetually  on 
the  alert.  Thus  I  was  a  slave  to  this  man's  tyranny,  and  my 
own  torments  enabled  me  to  understand  those  of  Madame  de 
Mortsauf. 

We  began  to  exchange  glances  of  intelligence,  and  my 
tears  would  sometimes  rise  when  she  repressed  hers.  Thus 


60  THE   LILY  OF   THE    I'ALLEY. 

the  Countess  and  I  tested  each  other  through  sorrow.  I  made 
many  discoveries  in  the  course  of  the  first  six  weeks — forty  days 
of  real  annoyance,  of  silent  joys,  of  hopes  now  engulfed  and 
now  rising  to  the  top. 

One  evening  I  found  her  piously  meditative  as  she  looked 
at  a  sunset,  which  crimsoned  the  heights  with  so  voluptuous  a 
blush,  the  valley  spread  below  it  like  a  bed,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  understand  the  voice  of  this  eternal  Song  of  Songs 
by  which  nature  bids  her  creatures  love.  Was  the  girl  dream- 
ing of  illusions  now  flown  ?  Was  the  woman  feeling  the  pangs 
of  some  secret  comparison  ?  I  fancied  I  saw  in  her  languid 
attitude  a  favorable  opening  for  a  first  avowal.  I  said  to 
her— 

"  Some  days  are  so  hard  to  live  through." 
"  You  have  read  my  mind,"  replied  she.     "  But  how?" 
"We  have  so  many  points  of  contact,"  said  I.     "Are  we 
not  both  of  the  privileged  few,  keen  to  suffer  and  to  enjoy — 
in  whom  every  sensitive  fibre  thrills  in  unison  to  produce  an 
echoing  chord  of  feeling,  and  whose  nervous  system  dwells  in 
constant  harmony  with  the  first  principle  of  things?     Such 
beings,  placed  in  a  discordant  medium,  suffer  torture,  just  as 
their  enjoyment  rises  to  an  ecstacy  when  they  meet  with  ideas, 
sensations,  or  persons  that  they  find  sympathetic. 

"And  for  us  there  is  a  third  condition,  of  which  the  woes 
are  known  only  to  souls  suffering  from  the  same  malady,  and 
endowed  with  brotherly  intelligence.  We  are  capable  of 
having  impressions  that  are  neither  pleasure  nor  pain.  Then 
an  expressive  instrument,  gifted  with  life,  is  stirred  in  a  void 
within  us,  is  impassioned  without  an  object,  gives  forth  sounds 
without  melody,  utters  words  that  die  in  the  silence — a 
dreadful  contradiction  in  souls  that  rebel  against  the  useless- 
ness  of  a  vacuum  ;  a  terrible  sport  in  which  all  our  power  is 
spent  without  nutrition,  like  blood  from  some  internal  wound. 
Our  emotion  flows  in  torrents,  leaving  us  unutterably  weak,  in 
a  speechless  dejection  for  which  the  confessional  has  no  ear. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  61 

Have  I  not  expressed  the  sufferings  we  both  are  familiar 
with?" 

She  shivered,  and,  still  gazing  at  the  sunset,  she  replied — 

"How  do  you,  who  are  so  young,  know  these  things?  Were 
you  once  a  woman  ?  ' ' 

"Ah!"  said  I,  with  some  agitation,  "my  childhood  was 
like  one  long  illness?  " 

"  I  hear  Madeleine  coughing,"  said  she,  hastily  leaving  me. 

The  Countess  had  seen  me  constant  in  my  attentions  to  her, 
without  taking  offense,  for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place, 
she  was  as  pure  as  a  child  and  her  thoughts  never  wandered 
to  evil.  And  then  I  amused  the  Count ;  I  was  food  for  this 
lion  without  claws  or  mane.  For  I  had  hit  on  a  pretext  for 
my  visits  which  was  plausible  to  all.  I  could  not  play  back- 
gammon ;  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  offered  to  teach  me,  and  I 
accepted. 

At  the  moment  when  this  bargain  was  made,  the  Countess 
could  not  help  giving  me  a  pitying  look,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Well,  you  are  rushing  into  the  wolf's  jaws  !  " 

If  I  had  failed  to  understand  this  at  first,  by  the  third  day 
I  knew  to  what  I  had  committed  myself.  My  patience,  which 
as  a  result  of  my  child-life  is  inexhaustible,  was  matured  dur- 
ing this  time  of  discipline.  To  the  Count  it  was  a  real  joy 
to  be  cruelly  sarcastic  when  I  failed  to  practice  some  rule  or 
principle  he  had  explained  to  me ;  if  I  paused  to  reflect  he 
complained  of  my  slow  play;  if  I  played  quickly,  he  hated  to 
be  hurried ;  if  I  left  blots,  while  taking  advantage  of  it,  he 
said  I  was  too  hasty.  It  was  the  despotism  of  a  schoolmaster, 
the  bullying  of  the  cane,  of  which  I  can  only  give  you  a 
notion  by  comparing  myself  to  Epictetus  made  a  slave  to  a 
malicious  child. 

When  we  played  for  money,  his  constant  winnings  gave 
him  mean  and  degrading  joy;  then  a  word  from  his  wife 
made  up  to  me  for  everything,  and  brought  him  back  to  a 
sense  of  decency  and  politeness.  But  ere  long  I  fell  into  the 


62  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

torments  of  a  fiery  furnace  I  had  not  foreseen  :  at  this  rate  my 
pocket-money  was  melting. 

Though  the  Count  always  remained  between  his  wife  and 
me  till  I  took  my  leave,  sometimes  at  a  late  hour,  I  always 
hoped  to  find  a  moment  when  I  might  steal  into  her  heart ; 
but  in  order  to  attain  that  hour,  watched  for  with  the  painful 
patience  of  a  sportsman,  I  saw  that  I  must  persevere  in  these 
weariful  games,  through  which  I  endured  mental  misery  and 
which  were  winning  away  all  my  money  ! 

Many  a  time  had  we  sat  in  silence,  watching  an  effect  of 
the  sun  on  the  meadows,  of  the  clouds  in  a  gray  sky,  the  blue 
misty  hills,  or  the  quivering  moonbeams  on  the  gem-like  play 
of  the  river,  without  uttering  a  word  beyond — 

"  What  a  beautiful  night !  " 

"  Madame,  the  night  is  a  woman." 

"And  what  peace  !  " 

"Yes ;  it  is  impossible  to  be  altogether  unhappy  here.' 

At  this  reply  she  returned  to  her  worsted-work.  I  had  in 
fact  understood  the  yearnings  of  her  inmost  self  stirred  by  an 
affection  that  insisted  on  its  rights. 

Without  money  my  evenings  were  at  an  end.  I  wrote  to 
my  mother  to  sejjd  me  some ;  my  mother  scolded  me,  and 
would  give  me  none  for  a  week.  To  whom  could  I  apply ! 
And  it  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  me  ! 

Thus  at  the  very  beginning  of  my  first  great  happiness  I 
again  felt  the  sufferings  which  had  always  pursued  me ;  in 
Paris,  at  school,  I  had  evaded  them  by  melancholy  abstinence, 
my  woes  were  only  negative ;  at  Frapesle  they  were  active  ;  I 
now  knew  that  longing  to  steal,  those  dreamed-of  crimes  and 
horrible  frenzies  which  blast  the  soul,  and  which  we  are  bound 
to  stifle  or  lose  all  self-respect.  My  remembrance  of  the  miser- 
able reflections,  the  anguish  inflicted  on  me  by  my  mother's 
parsimony,  have  given  me  that  holy  indulgence  for  young 
men  which  those  must  feel  who,  without  having  fallen,  have 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  gulf  and  sounded  the  abyss.  Though 


THE  LILY  OF  1  HE    VALLEY.  63 

my  honesty,  watered  with  cold  sweats,  stood  firm  at  those 
moments  when  the  waters  of  life  part  and  show  the  stony 
depths  of  its  bed,  whenever  human  justice  draws  her  terrible 
sword  on  a  man's  neck,  I  say  to  myself,  "  Penal  laws  were 
made  by  those  who  never  knew  want." 

In  this  dire  extremity  I  found  in  Monsieur  de  Chessel's 
library  a  treatise  on  backgammon,  and  this  I  studied  ;  then 
my  host  was  good  enough  to  give  me  a  few  lessons.  Under 
milder  tuition  I  made  some  progress  and  could  apply  the 
rules  and  calculations  which  I  learned  by  heart.  In  a  few  days 
I  was  able  to  beat  my  master.  But  when  I  won  he  waxed 
furious;  his  eyes  glared  like  a  tiger's,  his  face  twitched,  his 
brows  worked  as  I  never  saw  any  other's  work.  His  fractious- 
ness  was  like  that  of  a  spoilt  child.  Sometimes  he  would 
fling  the  dice  across  the  room,  rage  and  stamp,  bite  the  dice- 
box,  and  abuse  me.  But  this  violence  had  to  be  stopped. 
As  soon  as  I  could  play  a  good  game,  I  disposed  of  the  battle 
as  I  pleased.  I  arranged  it  so  that  we  should  come  out 
nearly  even  at  the  end,  allowing  him  to  win  at  the  beginning 
of  the  evening,  and  restoring  the  balance  in  the  latter  games. 

The  end  of  the  world  would  have  amazed  the  Count  less 
than  his  pupil's  sudden  proficiency;  but,  in  fact,  he  never 
perceived  it.  The  regular  result  of  our  play  was  a  novelty 
that  bewildered  his  mind. 

"  My  poor  brain  is  tired,  no  doubt,"  he  would  say.  "You 
always  win  at  the  finish,  because  by  that  time  I  have  exhausted 
my  powers." 

The  Countess,  who  knew  the  game,  detected  my  purpose 
from  the  first,  and  saw  in  it  an  evidence  of  immense  affection. 
These  details  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those  to  whom  the 
extreme  difficulty  of  backgammon  is  known.  How  much 
this  trifle  betrayed  !  But  love,  like  God  as  depicted  by  Bos- 
suet,  regards  the  poor  man's  cup  of  water,  the  struggle  of  the 
soldier  who  dies  inglorious,  as  far  above  the  most  profitable 
victories. 


64  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

The  Countess  gave  me  one  of  those  looks  of  silent  grati- 
tude that  overpower  a  youthful  heart :  she  bestowed  on  me 
such  a  glance  as  she  reserved  for  her  children.  From  that 
thrice-blessed  evening  she  always  looked  at  me  when  she  spoke 
to  me. 

I  could  never  find  words  for  my  state  of  mind  when  I  left. 
My  soul  had  absorbed  my  body.  I  weighed  nothing,  I  did 
not  walk — I  floated.  I  felt  within  me  still  that  look  that  had 
bathed  me  in  glory,  just  as  her  "  Good-night,  monsieur,"  had 
echoed  in  my  soul  like  the  harmonies  of  the  "O  filii,  O 
filise  !  "  of  the  Easter  benediction.  I  was  born  to  new  life. 
I  was  something  to  her,  then  ! 

I  slept  in  wrappings  of  purple.  Flames  danced  before  my 
closed  eyes,  chasing  each  other  in  the  dark  like  the  pretty 
bright  sparks  that  run  over  charred  paper.  And  in  my 
dreams  her  voice  seemed  something  tangible — an  atmosphere 
that  lapped  me  in  light  and  fragrance,  a  melody  that  lulled 
my  spirit. 

Next  day  her  welcome  conveyed  the  full  expression  of  the 
feelings  she  bestowed  on  me,  and  thenceforth  I  knew  every 
secret  of  her  tones. 

That  day  was  to  be  one  of  the  most  noteworthy  of  my  life. 
After  dinner  we  went  for  a  walk  on  the  downs  and  up  to  a 
common  where  nothing  would  grow ;  the  soil  was  strong  and 
dry,  with  no  vegetable  mold.  There  were,  however,  a  few 
oaks,  and  some  bushes  covered  with  sloes ;  but  instead  of 
grass,  the  ground  was  carpeted  with  curled  brown  lichen, 
bright  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  slippery  under  foot. 
I  held  Madeleine  by  the  hand  to  keep  her  from  falling,  and 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  gave  Jacques  her  arm.  The  Count, 
who  led  the  way,  suddenly  struck  the  earth  with  his  stick, 
and,  turning  round,  exclaimed  in  a  terrible  tone — 

"Such  has  my  life  been  !  Oh,  before  I  knew  you,"  he 
added,  with  an  apologetic  glance  at  his  wife.  But  it  was  too 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  65 

late,  the  Countess  had  turned  pale.  What  woman  would  not 
have  staggered  under  such  a  blow  ? 

"  What  delightful  perfumes  reach  us  here  and  what  wonder- 
ful effects  of  light!"  cried  I.  "I  should  like  to  own  this 
common  ;  I  might  perhaps  find  riches  if  I  dug  into  it ;  but 
the  most  certain  advantage  would  be  living  near  you.  But 
who  would  not  pay  highly  for  a  view,  so  soothing  to  the  eye, 
of  that  winding  river  in  which  the  soul  may  bathe  among  ash 
trees  and  birch.  That  shows  how  tastes  differ  !  To  you  this 
spot  of  land  is  a  common  ;  to  me  it  is  a  paradise." 

She  thanked  me  with  a  look. 

"  Rhodomontade  !  "  said  he  in  a  bitter  tone.  Then,  inter- 
rupting himself,  he  said,  "  Do  you  hear  the  bells  of  Azay?  I 
can  positively  hear  the  bells." 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  glanced  at  me  with  an  expression  of 
alarm,  Madeleine  clutched  my  hand. 

"  Shall  we  go  home  and  play  a  hit  ?  "  said  I.  "  The  rattle 
of  the  dice  will  hinder  you  from  hearing  the  bells." 

We  returned  to  Clochegourde,  talking  at  intervals.  When 
we  went  into  the  drawing-room  we  sat  in  indefinable  inde- 
cision. The  Count  had  sunk  into  an  arm-chair,  lost  in  thought, 
and  undisturbed  by  his  wife,  who  knew  the  symptoms  of  his 
malady  and  could  foresee  an  attack.  I  was  not  less  silent. 
She  did  not  bid  me  leave,  perhaps  because  she  thought  that  a 
game  of  backgammon  would  amuse  the  Count  and  scare 
away  this  dreadful  nervous  irritation,  for  its  outbreaks  half- 
killed  her. 

Nothing  was  more  difficult  than  to  persuade  the  Count  to 
play  his  game  of  backgammon,  though  he  always  longed  for 
it.  Like  a  mincing  coquette,  he  had  to  be  entreated  and 
urged,  so  as  not  to  seem  under  any  obligation,  perhaps  because 
he  felt  that  he  was.  If,  at  the  end  of  some  interesting  con- 
versation, I  forgot  to  go  through  my  salamelek,  he  was  sulky, 
sharp,  and  offensive,  and  showed  his  annoyance  by  contra- 
dicting everything  that  was  said.  Then,  warned  by  his 
5 


66  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

fractiousness,  I  would  propose  a  game,  and  he  would  play  the 
coquette. 

"  It  was  too  late,"  he  would  say,  "and,  beside,  I  did  not 
really  care  for  it."  In  short,  no  end  of  airs  and  graces,  like  a 
woman  whose  real  wishes  you  cannot  at  last  be  sure  of.  I  was 
humble,  and  besought  him  to  give  me  practice  in  a  science  so 
easily  forgotten  for  lack  of  exercise. 

On  this  occasion  I  had  to  affect  the  highest  spirits  to  per- 
suade him  to  play.  He  complained  of  giddiness  that  hindered 
his  calculations,  his  brain  was  crushed  in  a  vice,  he  had  a 
singing  in  his  ears,  he  was  suffocating,  and  sighed  and  groaned. 
At  last  he  consented  to  come  to  the  table.  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  then  left  us  to  put  the  children  to  bed  and  to  read 
prayers  for  the  household.  All  went  well  during  her  absence  ; 
I  contrived  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  should  win,  and  his 
success  restored  his  good  humor.  The  sudden  transition  from 
a  state  of  depression,  in  which  he  had  given  utterance  to  the 
most  gloomy  anticipations  for  himself,  to  this  joviality  like 
that  of  a  drunken  man,  and  to  crazy,  irrational  mirth,  dis- 
tressed and  terrified  me.  I  had  never  seen  him  so  frankly  and 
unmistakably  beside  himself.  Our  intimacy  had  borne  fruit ; 
he  was  no  longer  on  his  guard  with  me.  Day  by  day  he  tried 
to  involve  me  in  his  tyranny,  and  find  in  me  fresh  food  for 
his  humors — for  it  really  would  seem  that  mental  disorders  are 
living  things,  with  appetites  and  instincts,  and  a  craving  to 
extend  the  limits  of  their  dominion  as  a  landowner  seeks  to 
enlarge  his  borders. 

The  Countess  came  down  again  and  drew  near  the  back- 
gammon table  for  a  better  light  on  her  work,  but  she  sat  down 
to  her  frame  with  ill-disguised  apprehension.  An  unlucky 
move,  which  I  could  not  avoid,  changed  the  Count's  face ; 
from  cheerful  it  became  gloomy,  from  purple  it  turned  yellow, 
and  his  eyes  wandered.  Then  came  another  blow  which  I 
could  neither  foresee  nor  make  good.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
threw  a  fatally  bad  number  which  ruined  him.  He  started 


HE    STARTED    UP,    THREW    THE    TABLE    OVER    ME    AND    THE 
LAMP    ON    THE    GROUND. 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  67 

up,  threw  the  table  over  me  and  the  lamp  on  the  ground, 
struck  his  fist  on  the  console,  and  leaped — for  I  cannot  say 
he  walked — up  and  down  the  room.  The  rush  of  abuse, 
oaths,  and  ejaculations  that  he  poured  out  was  enough  to  make 
one  think  that  he  was  possessed,  according  to  mediaeval  be- 
lief. Imagine  my  position. 

"  Go  out  into  the  garden,"  said  she,  pressing  my  hand. 

I  went  without  the  Count's  noticing  that  I  was  gone. 

From  the  terrace,  whither  I  slowly  made  my  way,  I  could 
hear  his  loud  tones,  and  groans  coming  from  his  bedroom, 
adjoining  the  dining-room.  Above  the  tempest  I  could  also 
hear  the  voice  of  an  angel,  audible  now  and  then  like  the 
song  of  the  nightingale  when  the  storm  is  passing  over.  I 
wandered  up  and  down  under  the  acacias  on  that  exquisite 
night  late  in  August,  waiting  for  the  Countess.  She  would 
come ;  her  manner  had  promised  it.  For  some  days  an  ex- 
planation had  been  in  the  air  between  us,  and  must  inevitably 
come  at  the  first  word  that  should  unseal  the  overfull  well  in 
our  hearts.  What  bashfulness  retarded  the  hour  of  our  perfect 
understanding?  Perhaps  she  loved,  as  I  did,  the  thrill, 
almost  like  the  stress  of  fear,  which  quenches  emotion  at  those 
moments  when  we  hold  down  the  gushing  overflow  of  life, 
when  we  are  as  shy  of  revealing  our  inmost  soul  as  a  maiden 
bride  of  unveiling  to  the  husband  she  loves.  The  accumula- 
tion of  our  thoughts  had  magnified  this  first  and  necessary 
confession  on  both  sides. 

An  hour  stole  away.  I  was  sitting  on  the  brick  parapet 
when  the  sound  of  her  footstep,  mingling  with  the  rustle  of 
her  light  dress,  fluttered  the  evening  air.  It  was  one  of  the 
sensations  at  which  the  heart  stands  still. 

"  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  is  asleep,"  said  she.  "  When  he 
has  one  of  these  attacks  I  give  him  a  cup  of  tea  made  of 
poppy-heads,  and  the  crisis  is  rare  enough  for  the  simple 
remedy  always  to  take  effect.  Monsieur,"  she  went  on,  with 
a  change  of  tone  to  the  most  persuasive  key,  "  an  unfortunate 


68  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

accident  has  put  you  in  possession  of  secrets  which  have 
hitherto  been  carefully  kept ;  promise  me  to  bury  in  your  heart 
every  memory  of  this  scene.  Do  this  for  my  sake,  I  beg  of 
you.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  swear  it;  the  simple  Yes  of  a  man 
of  honor  will  amply  satisfy  me." 

"Need  I  even  say  Yes?"  I  asked.  "Have  we  failed  to 
understand  each  other? " 

"  Do  not  form  an  unjust  opinion  of  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
from  seeing  the  result  of  much  suffering  endured  in  exile," 
she  went  on.  "  He  will  have  entirely  forgotten  by  to-morrow 
all  he  said  to  you,  and  you  will  find  him  quite  kind  and 
affectionate." 

"  Nay,  madame,"  said  I,  "  you  need  not  justify  the  Count. 
I  will  do  exactly  what  you  will.  I  would  this  instant  throw 
myself  into  the  Indre  if  I  could  thus  make  a  new  man  of 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  and  give  you  a  life  of  happiness.  The 
only  thing  I  cannot  do  is  to  alter  my  opinion,  nothing  is  more 
essentially  a  part  of  me.  I  would  give  my  life  for  you ;  I  can- 
not sacrifice  my  conscience ;  I  may  refuse  to  listen  to  it,  but 
can  I  hinder  its  speaking?  Now,  in  my  opinion,  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  is " 

"I  quite  understand  you,"  she  said,  interrupting  me  to 
mitigate  the  idea  of  insanity  by  softening  the  expression. 
"  The  Count  is  as  nervous  as  a  lady  with  the  megrims ;  but 
it  occurs  only  at  long  intervals,  at  most  once  a  year,  when 
the  heat  is  greatest.  How  much  evil  the  emigration  brought 
in  its  train  !  How  many  noble  lives  were  wrecked  !  He,  I 
am  sure,  would  have  been  a  distinguished  officer  and  an  honor 
to  his  country " 

"I  know  it,"  I  replied,  interrupting  in  my  turn,  to  show 
her  that  it  was  vain  to  try  to  deceive  me. 

She  paused  and  laid  a  hand  on  my  brow,  saying  with  great 
earnestness  : 

"  Who  has  thus  thrown  you  into  our  midst?  Has  God  in- 
tended me  to  find  a  help  in  you,  a  living  friendship  to  lean 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  69 

upon?"  she  went  on,  firmly  grasping  my  hand.     "For  you 
are  kind  and  generous " 

She  looked  up  to  heaven  as  if  to  invoke  some  visible  evi- 
dence that  should  confirm  her  secret  hopes;  then  she  bent 
her  eyes  on  me.  Magnetized  by  that  gaze  which  shed  her 
soul  into  mine,  I  failed  in  tact  by  every  rule  of  worldly  guid- 
ance ;  but  to  some  souls  is  not  such  precipitancy  a  magnani- 
mous haste  to  meet  danger,  an  eagerness  to  prevent  disaster 
and  dread  of  a  misfortune  that  may  never  come;  is  it  not 
more  often  the  abrupt  question  of  heart  to  heart,  a  blow 
struck  to  find  out  whether  they  ring  in  unison  ? 

Many  thoughts  flashed  through  me  like  light,  and  counseled 
me  to  wash  out  the  stain  that  soiled  my  innocency  even  at 
the  moment  when  I  hoped  for  full  initiation. 

"Before  going  any  further,"  said  I,  in  a  voice  quavering 
from  my  heart-beats,  audible  in  the  deep  silence,  "allow  me 
to  purify  one  memory  of  the  past " 

"  Be  silent,"  said  she  hastily,  and  laying  a  finger  on  my  lips 
for  an  instant.  She  looked  at  me  loftily,  like  a  woman  who 
stands  too  high  for  slander  to  reach  her,  and  said  in  a  broken 
voice,  "  I  know  to  what  you  allude — the  first  and  last  and  only 
insult  ever  offered  me  !  Never  speak  of  that  ball.  Though 
as  a  Christian  I  have  forgiven  you,  the  woman  still  smarts 
under  it." 

"Do  not  be  less  merciful  than  God,"  said  I,  my  eyelashes 
retaining  the  tears  that  rose  to  my  eyes. 

"I  have  a  right  to  be  more  severe;  I  am  weaker,"  replied 
she. 

"But  hear  me,"  I  cried,  with  a  sort  of  childish  indigna- 
tion, "  even  if  it  be  for  the  first  and  last  and  only  time  in  your 
life." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  speak  then  !  Otherwise  you  will  fancy 
that  I  am  afraid  to  hear  you." 

I  felt  that  this  hour  was  unique  in  our  lives,  and  I  told  her, 
in  a  way  to  command  belief,  "  that  every  woman  at  that  ball 


70  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

had  been  as  indifferent  to  me  as  every  other  I  had  hitherto 
seen ;  but  that  when  I  saw  her — I  who  had  spent  my  life  in 
study,  whose  spirit  was  so  far  from  bold — I  had  been  swept 
away  by  a  sort  of  frenzy  which  could  only  be  condemned  by 
those  who  had  never  known  it ;  that  the  heart  of  man  had 
never  been  so  overflowing  with  such  desire  as  no  living  being 
can  resist,  and  which  conquers  all  things,  even  death " 

"And  scorn?"  said  she,  interrupting  me. 

"What,  you  scorned  me  !  "  said  I. 

"Talk  no  more  of  these  things,"  said  she. 

"  Nay,  let  us  talk  of  them,"  replied  I,  in  the  excitement  of 
superhuman  anguish.  "  It  concerns  my  whole  being,  my  un- 
known life  ;  it  is  a  secret  you  must  hear,  or  else  I  must  die  of 
despair  !  And  does  it  not  concern  you,  too — you  who,  with- 
out knowing  it,  are  the  lady  in  whose  hand  shines  the  crown 
held  out  to  the^conqueror  in  the  lists? " 

I  told  her  the  story  of  my  childhood  and  youth,  not  as  I 
have  related  it  to  you,  calmly  judged  from  a  distance,  but  in 
the  words  of  a  young  man  whose  wounds  are  still  bleeding. 
My  voice  rang  like  the  axe  of  the  woodman  in  a  forest.  The 
dead  years  fell  crashing  down  before  it,  and  the  long  misery 
that  had  crowned  them  with  leafless  boughs.  In  fevered  words 
I  described  to  her  a  thousand  odious  details  that  I  have  spared 
you.  I  displayed  the  treasury  of  my  splendid  hopes,  the 
virgin  gold  of  my  desires,  a  burning  heart  kept  hot  under  the 
Alps  of  ice  piled  up  through  a  perpetual  winter.  And  then, 
when,  crushed  by  the  burden  of  my  griefs  uttered  with  the 
fire  of  an  Isaiah,  I  waited  for  a  word  from  the  woman  who  had 
heard  me  with  a  downcast  head,  she  lightened  the  darkness 
with  a  look,  and  vivified  the  worlds  earthly  and  divine  by  one 
single  sentence. 

"Our  childhood  was  the  same,"  said  she,  showing  me  a 
face  bright  with  the  halo  of  martyrdom. 

After  a  pause,  during  which  our  souls  were  wedded  by  the 
same  consoling  thought,  "  Then  I  was  not  the  only  one  to 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  71 

suffer  !  "  The  Countess  told  me,  in  the  tones  she  kept  for  her 
children,  how  luckless  she  had  been  as  a  girl  when  the  boys 
were  dead.  She  explained  the  difference,  made  by  her  con- 
dition as  a  girl  always  at  her  mother's  skirt,  between  her  mis- 
eries and  those  of  a  boy  flung  into  the  world  of  school.  My 
isolation  had  been  a  paradise  in  comparison  with  the  grinding 
millstone  under  which  her  spirit  was  perennially  bruised,  until 
the  day  when  her  true  mother,  her  devoted  aunt,  had  saved 
her  by  rescuing  her  from  the  torture  of  which  she  described 
the  ever-new  terrors.  It  was  a  course  of  those  indescribable 
goading  pricks  that  are  intolerable  to  a  nervous  nature  which 
can  face  a  direct  thrust,  but  dies  daily  under  the  sword  of 
Damocles — a  generous  impulse  quashed  by  a  stern  command  ; 
a  kiss  coldly  accepted  ;  silence  first  enjoined  and  then  found 
fault  with ;  tears  repressed  that  lay  heavy  on  her  heart ;  in 
short,  all  the  petty  tyranny  of  convent  discipline  hidden  from 
the  eyes  of  the  world  behind  a  semblance  of  proud  and  senti- 
mental motherhood.  Her  mother  was  vain  of  her  and  boasted 
of  her ;  but  she  paid  dearly  afterward  for  the  praise  bestowed 
only  for  the  glory  of  her  teacher.  When,  by  dint  of  docility 
and  sweetness,  she  fancied  she  had  softened  her  mother's 
heart  and  opened  her  own,  the  tyrant  armed  herself  with  her 
confessions.  A  spy  would  have  been  less  cowardly  and  treach- 
erous. 

All  her  girlish  pleasures  and  festivals  had  cost  her  dear,  for 
she  was  scolded  for  having  enjoyed  them  as  much  as  for  a 
fault.  The  lessons  of  her  admirable  education  had  never 
been  given  with  love,  but  always  with  cruel  irony.  She 
owed  her  mother  no  grudge,  she  only  blamed  herself  for 
loving  her  less  than  she  feared  her.  Perhaps,  the  angel 
thought,  this  severity  had  really  been  necessary.  Had  it  not 
prepared  her  for  her  present  life  ? 

She  paused. 

As  I  listened  to  her,  I  felt  as  though  the  harp  of  Job,  from 
which  I  had  struck  some  wild  chords,  was  now  touched  by 


72  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

Christian  fingers,  and  responded  with  the  chanted  liturgy  of 
the  Virgin  at  the  foot  of  the  cross. 

"  We  dwelt  in  the  same  sphere,"  I  exclaimed  emphatically, 
"  before  meeting  here,  you  coming  from  the  East  and  I  from 
the  West." 

She  shook  her  head  with  desperate  agitation  :  "  The  East 
is  for  you  and  the  West  is  for  me,"  said  she.  "  You  will  live 
happy,  I  shall  die  of  grief!  Men  make  the  conditions  of 
their  life  themselves ;  my  lot  is  cast  once  for  all.  No  power 
can  break  the  ponderous  chain  to  which  a  wife  is  bound  by  a 
ring  of  gold,  the  emblem  of  her  purity." 

Feeling  now  that  we  were  twins  of  the  same  nurture,  she 
could  not  conceive  of  semi-confidences  between  sister  souls 
that  had  drunk  of  the  same  spring.  After  the  natural  sigh  of 
a  guileless  heart  opening  for  the  first  time,  she  told  me  the 
story  of  the  early  days  of  her  married  life,  her  first  disillusion- 
ment, all  the  renewal  of  her  sorrows.  She,  like  me,  had 
gone  through  those  trivial  experiences  which  are  so  great  to 
spirits  whose  limpid  nature  is  shaken  through  and  through  by 
the  slightest  shock,  as  a  stone  flung  into  a  lake  stirs  the  depths 
as  well  as  the  surface. 

When  she  married  she -had  some  savings,  the  little  treasure 
which  represents  the  happy  hours,  the  thousand  trifles  a  young 
wife  may  wish  for ;  one  day  of  dire  need  she  had  generously 
given  the  whole  sum  to  her  husband,  not  telling  him  that 
these  were  not  gold-pieces,  but  remembrances  ;  he  had  never 
taken  any  account  of  it ;  he  did  not  feel  himself  her  debtor. 
Nor  had  she  seen  in  return  for  her  treasure,  sunk  in  the  sleep- 
ing waters  of  oblivion,  the  moistened  eye  which  pays  every 
debt,  and  is  to  a  generous  soul  like  a  perpetual  gem  whose 
rays  sparkle  in  the  darkest  day. 

And  she  had  gone  on  from  sorrow  to  sorrow.  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  would  forget  to  give  her  money  for  housekeeping ; 
he  woke  up  as  from  a  dream  when  she  asked  for  it,  after  over- 
coming a  woman's  natural  shyness  ;  never  once  had  he  spared 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  73 

her  this  bitter  experience  !  Then  what  terrors  had  beset  her 
at  the  moment  when  this  worn-out  man  had  first  shown 
symptoms  of  his  malady  !  The  first  outbreak  of  his  frenzied 
rage  had  completely  crushed  her.  What  miserable  medita- 
tions must  she  have  known  before  she  understood  that  her 
husband — the  impressive  figure  that  presides  over  a  woman's 
whole  life — was  a  nonentity  !  What  anguish  had  come  on 
her  after  the  birth  of  her  two  children  !  What  a  shock  on 
seeing  the  scarcely  living  infants  !  What  courage  she  must 
have  had  to  say  to  herself,  "I  will  breathe  life  into  them; 
they  shall  be  born  anew  day  by  day  ! ' '  And  then  the  despair 
of  finding  an  obstacle  in  the  heart  and  hand  whence  a  wife 
looks  for  help ! 

She  had  seen  this  expanse  of  woes  stretching  before  her,  a 
thorny  wilderness,  after  every  surmounted  difficulty.  From 
the  top  of  each  rock  she  had  discovered  new  deserts  to  cross, 
till  the  day  when  she  really  knew  her  husband,  knew  her 
children's  constitution,  and  the  land  she  was  to  dwell  in;  till 
the  day  when,  like  the  boy  taken  by  Napoleon  from  the 
tender  care  of  home,  she  had  inured  her  feet  to  tramp 
through  mire  and  snow,  inured  her  forehead  to  flying  bullets, 
and  broken  herself  entirely  to  the  passive  obedience  of  a 
soldier.  All  these  things,  which  I  abridge  for  you,  she  re- 
lated in  their  gloomy  details,  with  all  their  adjuncts  of  cruel 
incidents,  of  conjugal  defeats,  and  fruitless  efforts. 

"In  short,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "only  a  residence 
here  of  months  would  give  you  a  notion  of  all  the  troubles  the 
improvements  at  Clochegourde  cost  me,  all  the  weary  coaxing 
to  persuade  him  to  do  the  thing  that  is  most  useful  for  his 
interests.  What  childish  malice  possesses  him  whenever  any- 
thing I  may  have  advised  is  not  an  immediate  success  !  How 
delighted  he  is  to  proclaim  himself  in  the  right!  What 
patience  I  need  when  I  hear  continual  complaints  while  I  am 
killing  myself  to  clear  each  hour  of  weeds,  to  perfume  the  air 
he  breathes,  to  strew  sand  and  flowers  on  the  paths  he  has 


74  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

beset  with  stones  !  My  reward  is  this  dreadful  burden — '  I  am 
dying ;  life  is  a  curse  to  me  !  ' 

"  If  he  is  so  fortunate  as  to  find  visitors  at  home,  all  is 
forgotten  ;  he  is  gracious  and  polite.  Why  can  he  not  be  the 
same  to  his  family?  I  cannot  account  for  this  want  of  loyalty 
in  a  man  who  is  sometimes  chivalrous.  He  is  capable  of  going 
off  without  a  word,  all  the  way  to  Paris,  to  get  me  a  dress,  as 
he  did  the  other  day  for  that  ball.  Miserly  as  he  is  in  his 
housekeeping,  he  would  be  lavish  for  me  if  I  would  allow  it. 
It  ought  to  be  just  the  other  way ;  I  want  nothing,  and  the 
house  expenses  are  heavy.  In  my  anxiety  to  make  him  happy, 
and  forgetting  that  I  might  be  a  mother,  I  perhaps  gave  him 
the  habit  of  regarding  me  as  his  victim,  whereas  with  a  little 
flattery  I  might  still  manage  him  like  a  child  if  I  would  stoop 
to  play  so  mean  a  part !  But  the  interests  of  the  household 
make  it  necessary  that  I  should  be  as  calm  and  austere  as  a 
statue  of  justice ;  and  yet  I,  too,  have  a  tender  and  effusive 
soul." 

"But  why,"  said  I,  "do  you  not  avail  yourself  of  your 
influence  to  be  the  mistress  and  guide  him?" 

"  If  I  alone  were  concerned,  I  could  never  defy  the  stolid 
silence  with  which  for  hours  he  will  oppose  sound  arguments, 
nor  could  I  answer  his  illogical  remarks — the  reasoning  of  a 
child.  I  have  no  courage  against  weakness  or  childishness ; 
they  may  hit  me,  and  I  shall  make  no  resistance.  I  might 
meet  force  with  force,  but  I  have  no  power  against  those  I 
pity.  If  I  were  required  to  compel  Madeleine  to  do  some- 
thing that  would  save  her  life,  we  should  die  together.  Pity 
relaxes  all  my  fibres  and  weakens  my  sinews.  And  the  violent 
shocks  of  the  past  ten  years  have  undermined  me  ;  my  nervous 
force,  so  often  attacked,  is  sometimes  deliquescent,  nothing 
can  restore  it ;  the  strength  that  weathered  those  storms  is 
sometimes  wanting.  Yes,  sometimes  I  am  conquered. 

"  For  want  of  rest  and  of  sea-bathing,  which  would  give 
tone  to  my  whole  system,  I  shall  be  worn  out.  Monsieur 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  75 

de  Mortsauf  will  kill  me  if  he  keeps  on,  and  he  will  die  of 
my  death." 

"  Why  do  you  not  leave  Clochegourde  for  a  few  months  ? 
Why  should  you  and  the  children  not  go  to  the  sea?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  would  feel  him- 
self lost  if  I  left  him.  Though  he  will  not  recognize  the  situa- 
tion, he  is  aware  of  his  state.  The  man  and  the  invalid  are 
at  war  in  him,  two  different  natures,  whose  antagonism  ac- 
counts for  many  eccentricities.  And,  indeed,  he  has  every 
reason  to  dread  it ;  if  I  were  absent,  everything  here  would 
go  wrong.  You  have  seen,  no  doubt,  that  I  am  a  mother 
perpetually  on  the  watch  to  guard  her  brood  against  the  hawk 
that  hovers  over  them  ;  a  desperate  task,  increased  by  the 
cares  required  by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  whose  perpetual  cry 
is,  '  Where  is  madame  ? '  But  this  is  nothing.  I  am  at  the 
same  time  Jacques'  tutor  and  Madeleine's  governess.  This 
again  is  nothing.  I  am  steward  and  bookkeeper.  You  will 
some  day  know  the  full  meaning  of  my  words  when  I  say  that 
the  management  of  an  estate  is  here  the  most  exhausting  toil. 
We  have  but  a  small  income  in  money,  and  our  farms  are 
worked  on  a  system  of  half-profits  which  requires  incessant 
superintendence.  We  ourselves  must  sell  our  corn,  our  beasts, 
and  every  kind  of  crop.  Our  competitors  are  our  own  farmers, 
who  agree  with  the  purchasers  over  their  wine  at  the  tavern, 
and  fix  a  price  after  being  before  us  in  the  market. 

"  I  should  tire  you  out  if  I  were  to  tell  you  all  the  thousand 
difficulties  of  our  husbandry.  With  all  my  vigilance,  I  cannot 
keep  our  farmers  from  manuring  their  lands  from  our  mid- 
dens ;  I  can  neither  go  to  make  sure  that  our  bailiffs  do  not 
agree  with  them  to  cheat  us  when  the  crops  are  divided,  nor 
can  I  know  the  best  time  to  sell.  And  if  you  think  how  little 
memory  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  can  boast  of,  and  what  trouble 
it  costs  me  to  induce  him  to  attend  to  business,  you  will  un- 
derstand what  a  load  I  have  to  carry,  and  the  impossibility 
of  setting  it  down  even  for  a  moment.  If  I  went  away,  we 


76  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

should  be  ruined.  No  one  would  listen  to  his  orders  ;  in- 
deed, they  are  generally  contradictory;  then  nobody  is  at- 
tached to  him  ;  he  finds  too  much  fault  and  is  too  despotic  ; 
and,  like  all  weak  natures,  he  is  overready  to  listen  to  his 
inferiors,  and  so  fails  to  inspire  the  affection  that  binds  fami- 
lies together.  If  I  left  the  house,  not  a  servant  would  stay  a 
week. 

"  So  you  see  I  am  as  much  rooted  to  Clochegourde  as  one 
of  the  leaden  finials  is  to  the  roof.  I  have  kept  nothing  from 
you,  monsieur.  The  neighbors  know  nothing  of  the  secrets 
of  Clochegourde  ;  you  now  know  them  all.  Say  nothing  of 
the  place  but  what  is  kind  and  pleasant,  and  you  will  earn 
my  esteem — my  gratitude,"  she  added  in  a  softened  tone. 
"On  these  conditions  you  can  always  come  to  Clochegourde 
— you  will  find  friends  here." 

"  But  I  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  suffer,"  exclaimed  I. 
"You  alone " 

"Nay,"  said  she,  with  that  resigned  woman's  smile  that 
might  melt  granite,  "  do  not  be  dismayed  by  my  confidences. 
They  show  you  life  as  it  is,  and  not  as  your  fancy  had  led  you 
to  hope.  We  all  have  our  faults  and  our  good  points.  If  I 
had  married  a  spendthrift,  he  would  have  ruined  me.  If  I 
had  been  the  wife  of  some  ardent  and  dissipated  youth,  he 
would  have  been  a  favorite  with  women  ;  perhaps  he  would 
have  been  unfaithful,  and  I  should  have  died  of  jealousy.  I 
am  jealous  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  an  excited  tone  that  rang  like 
the  thunderclap  of  a  passing  storm. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  loves  me  as  much  as  it  is  in 
him  to  love  ;  all  the  affection  of  which  his  heart  is  capable  is 
poured  out  at  my  feet,  as  the  Magdalen  poured  out  her  pre- 
cious balm  at  the  feet  of  the  Saviour.  Believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  a  life  of  love  is  an  exception  to  every  earthly  law ; 
every  flower  fades,  every  great  joy  has  a  bitter  morrow — when 
it  has  a  morrow.  Real  life  is  a  life  of  sorrow ;  this  nettle  is 
its  fit  image ;  it  has  sprouted  in  the  shade  of  the  terrace,  and 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  77 

grows  green  on  its  stem  without  any  sunshine.  Here,  as  in 
northern  latitudes,  there  are  smiles  in  the  sky,  rare,  to  be 
sure,  but  making  amends  for  many  griefs.  After  all,  if  a 
woman  is  exclusively  a  mother,  is  she  not  tied  by  sacrifices 
rather  than  by  joys  ?  I  can  draw  down  on  myself  the  storms 
I  see  ready  to  break  on  the  servants  or  on  my  children,  and 
as  I  thus  conduct  them  I  feel  some  mysterious  and  secret 
strength.  The  resignation  of  one  day  prepares  me  for  the 
next. 

"And  God  does  not  leave  me  hopeless.  Though  I  was  at 
one  time  in  despair  over  my  children's  health,  I  now  see  that 
as  they  grow  up  they  grow  stronger.  And,  after  all,  our 
house  is  improved,  our  fortune  is  amended.  Who  knows 
whether  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  old  age  may  not  bring  me 
happiness. 

"  Believe  me,  the  human  being  who  can  appear  in  the 
presence  of  the  Great  Judge,  leading  any  comforted  soul  that 
had  been  ready  to  curse  life,  will  have  transformed  his  sor- 
rows into  delight.  If  my  suffering  has  secured  the  happiness 
of  my  family,  is  it  really  suffering  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  I.  "Still,  it  was  necessary  suffering,  as 
mine  has  been,  to  make  me  appreciate  the  fruit  that  has 
ripened  here  among  stones.  And  now  perhaps  we  may  eat  of 
it  together,  perhaps  we  may  admire  its  wonders  ! — the  flood 
of  affection  it  can  shed  on  the  soul,  the  sap  which  can  revive 
the  fading  leaves.  Then  life  is  no  longer  a  burden  ;  we  have 
cast  it  from  us.  Great  God!  can  you  not  understand?"  I 
went  on,  in  the  mystical  strain  to  which  religious  training  had 
accustomed  us  both.  "  See  what  roads  we  have  trodden  to 
meet  at  last !  What  loadstone  guided  us  across  the  ocean  of 
bitter  waters  to  the  fresh  springs  flowing  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  over  sparkling  sands,  between  green  and  flowery 
banks?  Have  we  not,  like  the  Kings  of  the  East,  followed 
the  same  star  ?  And  we  stand  by  the  manger  where  lies  an 
awakening  Babe — a  divine  Child  who  will  shoot  his  arrows  at 


78  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

the  head  of  the  leafless  trees,  who  will  wake  the  world  to  new 
life  for  us  by  his  glad  cries,  who  will  lend  savor  to  life  by 
continual  delights,  and  give  slumbers  by  night  and  content- 
ment by  day.  Are  we  not  more  than  brother  and  sister? 
What  heaven  has  joined,  put  not  asunder. 

"  The  sorrow  of  which  you  speak  is  the  grain  scattered 
freely  abroad  by  the  hand  of  the  sower,  to  bring  forth  a 
harvest  already  golden  under  the  most  glorious  sun.  Behold 
and  see  !  Shall  we  not  go  forth  together  and  gather  it  ear  by 
ear  ?  What  fervor  is  in  me  that  I  dare  to  speak  to  you  thus. 
Answer  me,  or  I  will  never  cross  the  Indre  again." 

"You  have  spared  me  the  name  of  love,"  said  she,  inter- 
rupting me  in  a  severe  tone;  "  but  you  have  described  a  feel- 
ing of  which  I  know  nothing — which  to  me  is  prohibited. 
You  are  but  a  boy,  and  again  I  forgive  you ;  but  it  is  for  the 
last  time.  Understand,  monsieur,  my  whole  heart  is  drunk, 
so  to  speak,  with  motherhood.  I  love  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf, 
not  as  a  social  duty,  nor  as  an  investment  to  earn  eternal 
bliss,  but  from  an  irresistible  feeling,  clinging  to  him  by  every 
fibre  of  my  heart.  Was  I  forced  into  this  marriage?  I  chose 
it  out  of  sympathy  with  misfortune.  Was  it  not  the  part  of 
woman  to  heal  the  bruises  of  time,  to  comfort  those  who  had 
stood  in  the  breach  and  come  back  wounded  ? 

"How  can  I  tell  you?  I  felt  a  sort  of  selfish  pleasure  in 
seeing  that  you  could  amuse  him.  Is  not  that  purely 
motherly  ?  Has  not  my  long  story  shown  you  plainly  that  I 
have  three  children  who  must  never  find  me  wanting,  on 
whom  I  must  shed  a  healing  dew  and  all  the  sunshine  of  my 
soul  without  allowing  the  smallest  particle  to  be  adulterated  ? 
Do  not  turn  a  mother's  milk. 

"  So,  though  the  wife  in  me  is  invulnerable,  never  speak  to 
me  thus  again.  If  you  fail  to  respect  this  simple  prohibition, 
I  warn  you,  the  door  of  this  house  will  be  closed  against  you 
for  ever.  I  believed  in  pure  friendship,  in  a  voluntary  brother- 
hood more  stable  than  any  natural  relationship.  I  was  mis- 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  79 

taken !  I  looked  for  a  friend  who  would  not  judge  me,  a 
friend  who  would  listen  to  me  in  those  hours  of  weakness  when 
a  voice  of  reproof  is  murderous,  a  saintly  friend  with  whom  I 
should  have  nothing  to  fear.  Youth  is  magnanimous,  inca- 
pable of  falsehood,  self-sacrificing,  and  disinterested;  as  I 
saw  your  constancy,  I  believed,  I  confess,  in  some  help  from 
heaven ;  I  believed  I  had  met  a  spirit  that  would  be  to  me 
alone  what  the  priest  is  to  all,  a  heart  into  which  I  might  pour 
out  my  sorrows  when  they  are  too  many,  and  utter  my  cries 
when  they  insist  on  being  heard  and  would  choke  me  if  I 
suppressed  them.  In  that  way  my  life,  which  is  so  precious 
to  these  children,  might  be  prolonged  till  Jacques  is  a  man. 
But  this,  perhaps,  is  too  selfish.  Can  the  tale  of  Petrarch's 
Laura  be  repeated  ?  I  deceived  myself,  this  is  not  the  will  of 
God.  I  must  die  at  my  post  like  a  soldier,  without  a  friend. 
My  confessor  is  stern,  austere — and  my  aunt  is  dead." 

Two  large  tears,  sparking  in  the  moonlight,  dropped  from 
her  eyes  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks  to  her  chin ;  but  I  held 
out  my  hand  in  time  to  catch  them  and  drank  them  with 
pious  avidity,  excited  by  her  words,  that  rang  with  those  ten 
years  of  secret  weeping,  of  expanded  feeling,  of  incessant  care, 
of  perpetual  alarms — the  loftiest  heroism  of  your  sex.  She 
gazed  at  me  with  a  look  of  mild  amazement  mingled  with 
wonder. 

"This,"  said  I,  "is  the  first,  holy  communion  of  love. 
Yes,  I  have  entered  into  your  sorrows,  I  am  one  with  your 
soul,  as  we  become  one  with  Christ  by  drinking  His  sacred 
blood.  To  love  even  without  hope  is  happiness.  What 
woman  on  earth  could  give  me  any  joy  so  great  as  that  of 
having  imbibed  your  tears !  I  accept  the  bargain  which 
must,  no  doubt,  bring  me  suffering.  I  am  yours  without  re- 
serve, and  will  be  just  whatever  you  wish  me  to  be." 

She  checked  me  by  a  gesture,  and  said — 

"  I  consent  to  the  compact  if  you  will  never  strain  the  ties 
that  bind  us." 


80  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "  But  the  less  you  grant  me,  the  more 
sure  must  I  be  that  I  really  possess  it." 

"So  you  begin  by  distrusting  me,"  she  replied,  with  mel- 
ancholy doubtfulness. 

"  No,  by  one  pure  delight.  For  listen,  I  want  a  name  for 
you  which  no  one  ever  calls  you  by ;  all  my  own,  like  the 
affection  that  we  give  each  other." 

"It  is  much  to  ask,"  said  she.  "  However,  I  am  less  un- 
generous than  you  think  me.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  calls  me 
Blanche.  One  person  only,  the  one  I  loved  best,  my  adorable 
aunt,  used  to  call  me  Henriette.  I  will  be  Henriette  again 
for  you." 

I  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  she  yielded  it  with  the 
full  confidence  which  makes  woman  our  superior — a  confidence 
that  masters  us.  She  leaned  against  the  brick  parapet  and 
looked  out  over  the  river. 

"Are  you  not  rash,  dear  friend,"  said  she,  "to  rush  with 
one  leap  to  the  goal  of  your  course  ?  You  have  drained  at 
the  first  draught  a  cup  offered  you  in  all  sincerity.  But  a  true 
feeling  knows  no  half-measures  ;  it  is  all  or  nothing.  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf,"  she  went  on  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  is  above 
everything  loyal  and  proud.  You  might  perhaps  be  tempted 
for  my  sake  to  overlook  what  he  said;  if  he  has  forgotten  it, 
I  will  remind  him  of  it  to-morrow.  Stay  away  from  Cloche- 
gourde  for  a  few  days ;  he  will  respect  you  all  the  more.  On 
Sunday  next,  as  we  come  out  of  church,  he  will  make  the  first 
advances.  I  know  him.  He  will  make  up  for  past  offenses, 
and  will  like  you  the  better  for  having  treated  him  as  a  man 
responsible  for  his  words  and  deeds." 

"  Five  days  without  seeing  you,  hearing  your  voice  !  " 

"Never  put  such  fervor  into  your  speech  to  me,"  said  she. 

We  twice  paced  the  terrace  in  silence.  Then,  in  a  tone  of 
command,  which  showed  that  she  had  entered  into  possession 
of  my  soul,  she  said — 

"  It  is  late ;  good-night." 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  81 

I  wished  to  kiss  her  hand  ;  she  hesitated  ;  then  she  gave  it 
me,  saying  in  a  voice  of  entreaty — 

"  Never  take  it  unless  I  give  it  you  ;  leave  me  completely 
free,  or  else  I  shall  be  at  your  bidding,  and  that  must  not  be. ' ' 

"Good-by,"  said  I. 

I  went  out  of  the  little  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
which  she  opened  for  me.  Just  as  she  was  shutting  it  she 
opened  it  again,  and  held  out  her  hand,  saying — 

"You  have  been  indeed  kind  this  evening.  You  have 
brought  comfort  into  all  my  future  life.  Take  it,  my  friend, 
take  it." 

I  kissed  it  again  and  again,  and  when  I  looked  up  I  saw 
that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

She  went  up  to  the  terrace  and  looked  after  me  across  the 
meadow.  As  I  went  along  the  road  to  Frapesle,  I  could  still 
see  her  white  dress  in  the  moonlight ;  then,  a  few  minutes 
later,  a  light  was  shining  in  her  window. 

"Oh,  my  Henriette  !  "  thought  I,  "the  purest  love  that 
ever  burnt  on  earth  shall  be  yours." 

I  got  home  to  Frapesle,  looking  back  at  every  step.  My 
spirit  was  full  of  indescribable,  ineffable  gladness.  A  glorious 
path  at  last  lay  open  to  the  self-devotion  that  swells  every 
youthful  heart,  and  that  in  me  had  so  long  lain  inert.  I  was 
consecrated,  ordained,  like  a  priest  who  at  one  step  starts  on 
a  totally  new  life.  A  simple  "  Yes,  madame"  had  pledged 
me  to  preserve  in  my  heart  and  for  myself  alone  an  irre- 
sistible passion,  and  never  to  trespass  beyond  friendship  to 
tempt  this  woman  little  by  little  to  love.  Every  noble  feel- 
ing awoke  within  me  with  a  tumult  of  voices. 

Before  finding  myself  cabined  in  a  bedroom,  I  felt  that  I 
must  pause  in  rapture  under  the  blue  vault  spangled  with  stars, 
to  hear  again  in  my  mind's  ear  those  tones  as  of  a  wounded 
dove,  the  simple  accents  of  her  ingenuous  confidence,  and 
inhale  with  the  air  the  emanations  of  her  soul  which  she  must 
be  sending  out  to  me.  How  noble  she  appeared  to  me — the 
6 


82  THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

woman  who  so  utterly  forgot  herself  in  her  religious  care 
for  weak  or  suffering  or  wounded  creatures,  her  devotedness 
apart  from  legal  chains.  She  stood  serene  at  the  stake  of 
saintly  martyrdom  !  I  was  gazing  at  her  face  as  it  appeared 
to  me  in  the  darkness,  when  suddenly  I  fancied  that  I  dis- 
cerned in  her  words  a  mystical  significance  which  made  her 
seem  quite  sublime.  Perhaps  she  meant  that  I  was  to  be  to 
her  what  she  was  to  her  little  world  ;  perhaps  she  intended  to 
derive  strength  and  consolation  from  me  by  thus  raising  me 
to  her  sphere,  to  her  level — or  higher  ?  The  stars,  so  some 
bold  theorists  tell  us,  thus  interchange  motion  and  light. 
This  thought  at  once  lifted  me  to  ethereal  realms.  I  was 
once  more  in  the  heaven  of  my  early  dreams,  and  I  accounted 
for  the  anguish  of  my  childhood  by  the  infinite  beatitude  in 
which  I  now  floated. 

Ye  souls  of  genius  extinguished  by  tears,  misprized  hearts, 
Clarissa  Harlowes,  saintly  and  unsung,  outcast  children,  guilt- 
less exiles — all  ye  who  entered  life  through  its  desert  places, 
who  have  everywhere  found  cold  faces,  closed  hearts,  deaf 
ears — do  not  bewail  yourselves !  You  alone  can  know  the 
immensity  of  joy  in  the  moment  when  a  heart  opens  to  you, 
an  ear  listens,  a  look  answers  you.  One  day  wipes  out  all  the 
evil  days.  Past  sorrows,  broodings,  despair,  and  melancholy 
— past,  but  not  forgotten — are  so  many  bonds  by  which  the 
soul  clings  to  its  sister  soul.  The  woman,  beautified  by  our 
suppressed  desires,  inherits  our  wasted  sighs  and  loves ;  she 
refunds  our  deluded  affections  with  interest ;  she  supplies  a 
reason  for  antecedent  griefs,  for  they  are  the  equivalent  in- 
sisted on  by  fate  for  the  eternal  joy  she  bestows  on  the  day 
when  souls  are  wed.  The  angels  only  know  the  new  name  by 
which  this  sacred  love  may  be  called ;  just  as  you,  sweet 
martyrs,  alone  can  know  what  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  sud- 
denly become  to  me — hapless  and  alone. 

This  scene  had  taken  place  one  Tuesday;   I  waited  till 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  83 

the   following   Sunday   before   recrossing   the   Indre   in   my 
walks. 

During  these  five  days  great  events  occurred  at  Cloche- 
gourde.  The  Count  was  promoted  to  the  grade  of  major- 
general,  and  the  Cross  of  Saint-Louis  was  conferred  on  him 
with  a  pension  of  four  thousand  francs.  The  Due  de  Lenon- 
court-Givry  was  made  a  peer  of  France,  two  of  his  forest 
domains  were  restored  to  him,  he  had  an  appointment  at 
court,  and  his  wife  was  reinstated  in  her  property,  which  had 
not  been  sold,  having  formed  part  of  the  imperial  crown 
lands.  Thus  the  Comtesse  de  Mortsauf  had  become  one  of 
the  richest  heiresses  in  the  province.  Her  mother  had  come 
to  Clochegourde  to  pay  her  a  hundred  thousand  francs  she 
had  saved  out  of  the  revenues  from  Givry;  this  money,  settled 
on  her  at  her  marriage,  she  had  never  received ;  but  the 
Count,  in  spite  of  his  necessity,  had  never  alluded  to  this. 
In  all  that  concerned  the  outer  circumstances  of  life,  this 
man's  conduct  was  marked  by  disinterested  pride. 

By  adding  this  sum  to  what  he  had  saved,  the  Count  could 
now  purchase  two  adjoining  estates,  that  would  bring  in  about 
nine  thousand  francs  a  year.  His  son  was  to  inherit  his 
maternal  grandfather's  peerage ;  and  it  occurred  to  the  Count 
to  entail  on  Jacques  the  landed  property  of  both  families 
without  prejudice  to  Madeleine,  who,  with  the  Due  de  Lenon- 
court's  interest,  would,  no  doubt,  marry  well. 

All  these  schemes  and  this  good  fortune  shed  some  balm 
on  the  exile's  wounds. 

The  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt  at  Clochegourde  was  an  event 
in  the  district.  I  sorrowfully  reflected  what  a  great  lady  she 
was,  and  I  then  discerned  in  her  daughter  that  spirit  of  caste 
which  her  noble  soul  had  hitherto  hidden  from  my  eyes. 
What  was  I — poor,  and  with  no  hope  for  the  future  but  in  my 
courage  and  my  brains  ?  I  never  thought  of  the  consequences 
of  the  restoration  either  to  myself  or  to  others. 

On  Sunday,  from  the  side  chapel,  where  I  attended  mass 


84  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

with  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Chessel  and  the  Abbe  Quelus, 
I  sent  hungry  looks  to  the  chapel  on  the  opposite  side,  where 
the  Duchess  and  her  daughter  were,  the  Count,  and  the  chil- 
dren. The  straw  bonnet  that  hid  my  idol's  face  never 
moved,  and  this  ignoring  of  my  presence  seemed  to  be  a 
stronger  tie  than  all  that  had  passed.  The  noble  Henriette 
de  Lenoncourt,  who  was  now  my  beloved  Henriette,  was 
absorbed  in  prayer ;  faith  gave  an  indescribable  sentiment  of 
prostrate  dependence  to  her  attitude,  the  feeling  of  a  sacred 
statue,  which  penetrated  my  soul. 

As  is  customary  in  village  churches,  vespers  were  chanted 
some  little  time  after  high  mass.  As  we  left  the  church, 
Madame  de  Chessel  very  naturally  suggested  to  her  neighbors 
that  they  should  spend  the  two  hours'  interval  at  Frapesle 
instead  of  crossing  the  Indre  and  the  valley  twice  in  the  heat. 
The  invitation  was  accepted.  Monsieur  de  Chessel  gave  the 
Duchess  his  arm,  Madame  de  Chessel  took  the  Count's,  and  I 
offered  mine  to  the  Countess.  For  the  first  time  I  felt  that 
light  wrist  resting  by  my  side.  As  we  made  our  way  back 
from  the  church  to  Frapesle  through  the  woods  of  Sache, 
where  the  dappled  lights,  falling  through  the  leaves,  made 
pretty  patterns  like  China  silk,  I  went  through  surges  of  pride 
and  thrills  of  feeling  that  gave  me  violent  palpitations. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  said  she,  after  we  had  gone  a  few  steps 
in  silence,  which  I  dared  not  break ;  "  your  heart  beats  too 
fast." 

"  I  have  heard  of  good  fortune  for  you,"  said  I,  "  and,  like 
all  who  love  much,  I  feel  some  vague  fears.  Will  not  your 
greatness  mar  your  friendship  ?  " 

"Mine?"  cried  she.  "For  shame!  If  you  ever  have 
such  an  idea  I  shall  not  despise  you,  but  simply  forget  you 
for  ever." 

I  looked  at  her  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  which  must  surely 
have  been  infectious. 

"  We  get  the  benefit  of  an  edict  which  we  neither  prompted 


THE    LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  85 

nor  asked  for,  and  we  shall  neither  be  beggars  nor  grasping," 
she  went  on.  "  Beside,  as  you  know,  neither  I  nor  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  can  ever  leave  Clochegourde.  By  my  advice  he 
has  declined  the  active  command  he  had  a  right  to  at  the 
Maison  Rouge.  It  is  enough  that  my  father  should  have  an 
appointment.  And  our  compulsory  modesty,"  she  went  on, 
with  a  bitter  smile,  "  has  been  to  our  boy's  advantage  already. 
The  King,  on  whom  my  father  is  in  attendance,  has  very 
graciously  promised  to  reserve  for  Jacques  the  favors  we  have 
declined. 

"  Jacques'  education,  which  must  now  be  thought  of,  is  the 
subject  of  very  grave  discussion.  He  will  be  the  representa- 
tive of  the  two  houses  of  Mortsauf  and  Lenoncourt.  I  have 
no  ambition  but  for  him,  so  this  is  an  added  anxiety.  Not 
only  must  Jacques  be  kept  alive,  but  he  must  also  be  made 
worthy  of  his  name,  and  the  two  necessities  are  antagonistic. 
Hitherto  I  have  been  able  to  teach  him,  graduating  his  tasks 
to  his  strength  ;  but  where  am  I  to  find  a  tutor  who  would 
suit  me  in  this  respect  ?  And  then,  by-and-by,  to  what  friend 
can  I  look  to  preserve  him  in  that  dreadful  Paris,  where  every- 
thing is  a  snare  to  the  soul  and  a  peril  to  the  body  ? 

"My  friend,"  she  went  on,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "who 
that  looks  at  your  brow  and  eye  can  fail  to  see  in  you  one  of 
the  birds  that  dwell  on  the  heights.  Take  your  flight,  soar 
up,  and  one  day  become  the  guardian  of  our  beloved  child. 
Go  to  Paris ;  and  if  your  brother  and  your  father  will  not 
help  you,  our  family,  especially  my  mother,  who  has  a  genius 
for  business,  will  have  great  influence.  Take  the  benefit  of 
it,  and  then  you  will  never  lack  support  or  encouragement 
in  any  career  you  may  choose.  Throw  your  superabundant 
energy  into  ambition " 

"  I  understand,"  said  I,  interrupting  her.  "  My  ambition 
is  to  be  my  mistress  !  I  do  not  need  that  to  make  me  wholly 
yours.  No ;  I  do  not  choose  to  be  rewarded  for  my  good 
behavior  here  by  favors  there.  I  will  go ;  I  will  grow  up 


86  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

alone,  unaided.  I  will  accept  what  you  can  give  me ;  from 
any  one  else  I  will  take  nothing." 

"That  is  childish,"  she  murmured,  but  she  could  not  dis- 
guise a  smile  of  satisfaction. 

"Beside,"  I  went  on,  "I  have  pledged  myself.  In  con- 
sidering our  position,  I  have  resolved  to  bind  myself  to  you 
by  ties  which  can  never  be  loosened." 

She  shivered,  and  stood  still  to  look  in  my  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  letting  the  other  couples 
who  were  in  front  of  us  go  forward,  and  keeping  the  children 
by  her  side. 

"Well,"  replied  I,  "tell  me  plainly  how  you  would  wish 
me  to  love  you." 

"  Love  me  as  my  aunt  loved  me ;  I  have  given  you  her 
rights  by  permitting  you  to  call  me  by  the  name  she  had 
chosen  from  my  names." 

"  Love  you  without  hope,  with  entire  devotion  ?  Yes,  I 
will  do  for  you  what  men  do  for  God.  Have  you  not  asked 
it  of  me  ?  I  will  go  into  a  seminary ;  I  will  come  out  a  priest, 
and  I  will  educate  Jacques.  Your  Jacques  shall  be  my  sec- 
ond self:  my  political  notions,  my  thoughts,  my  energy,  and 
patience — I  will  give  them  all  to  him.  Thus  I  may  remain 
near  you,  and  no  suspicion  can  fall  on  my  love,  set  in  relig- 
ion like  a  silver  image  in  a  crystal.  You  need  not  fear  any 
of  those  perfervid  outbreaks  which  come  over  a  man,  which 
once  already  proved  too  much  for  me.  I  will  be  burned  in 
the  fire,  and  love  you  with  purified  ardor." 

She  turned  pale,  and  answered  eagerly,  without  any  hesi- 
tancy— 

"  Felix,  do  not  fetter  yourself  with  cords,  which  some  day 
may  be  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  our  happiness.  I  should 
die  of  grief  if  I  were  the  cause  of  such  suicide.  Child,  is  the 
despair  of  love  a  religious  vocation  ?  Wait  to  test  life  before 
you  judge  of  life.  I  desire  it — I  insist.  Marry  neither  the 
church  nor  a  woman ;  do  not  marry  at  all ;  I  forbid  it.  Re- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  87 

main  free.  You  are  now  one-and-twenty ;  you  scarcely  know 
what  the  future  may  have  in  store. 

"Good  heavens!"  she  added,  "am  I  mistaken  in  you? 
But  I  believed  that  in  two  months  one  might  really  know  some 
natures." 

"  What,  then,  is  it  that  you  hope  for  ?  "  I  asked  with  light- 
ning in  my  eyes. 

"  My  friend,  accept  my  assistance,  educate  yourself,  make 
a  fortune,  and  you  shall  know.  Well,  then,"  she  added,  as 
if  she  were  betraying  her  secret,  "always  hold  fast  to  Made- 
leine's hand,  which  is  at  this  moment  in  yours." 

She  had  bent  toward  me  to  whisper  these  words,  which 
showed  how  seriously  she  had  thought  of  my  future  prospects. 

"  Madeleine  ? ' '  cried  I.     "  Never ! ' ' 

These  two  words  left  us  silent  again  and  greatly  agitated. 
Our  minds  were  tossed  by  such  upheavals  as  leave  indelible 
traces. 

Just  before  us  was  a  wooden  gate  into  the  park  of  Frapesle 
— I  think  I  can  see  it  now,  with  its  tumble-down  side-posts 
overgrown  with  climbing  plants,  moss,  weeds,  and  brambles. 
Suddenly  an  idea — that  of  the  Count's  death — flashed  like  an 
arrow  through  my  brain,  and  I  said — 

"I  understand." 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  which  made  me 
see  that  I  had  suspected  her  of  a  thought  that  could  never 
have  occurred  to  her. 

Her  pure-mindedness  wrung  from  me  a  tear  of  admiration, 
made  bitter  indeed  by  the  selfishness  of  my  passion.  Then, 
with  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  I  thought  that  she  did  not  love 
me  enough  to  wish  for  freedom.  So  long  as  love  shrinks  from 
crime,  it  seems  to  have  a  limit,  and  love  ought  to  be  infinite. 
I  felt  a  terrible  spasm  at  my  heart. 

"  She  does  not  love  me,"  thought  I. 

That  she  might  not  read  my  soul,  I  bent  down  and  kissed 
Madeleine's  hair. 


88  THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

"I  am  afraid  of  your  mother,"  I  said  to  the  Countess,  to 
reopen  the  conversation. 

"  So  am  I,"  she  replied,  with  a  childish  gesture.  "  Do  not 
forget  to  address  her  as  Madame  la  Duchesse,  and  speak  to  her 
in  the  third  person.  Young  people  of  the  present  day  have 
forgotten  those  polite  formalities ;  revive  them ;  do  that  much 
for  me.  Beside,  it  is  always  in  good  taste  to  be  respectful  to 
a  woman,  whatever  her  age  may  be,  and  to  accept  social  dis- 
tinctions without  hesitancy.  Is  not  the  homage  you  pay  to 
recognized  superiority  a  guarantee  for  what  is  due  to  your- 
self? In  society  everything  holds  together.  The  Cardinal  de 
Rovere  and  Raphael  d'Urbino  were  in  their  time  two  equally 
respected  powers. 

"  You  have  drunk  the  milk  of  the  revolution  in  your  schools, 
and  your  political  ideas  may  show  the  taint ;  but  as  you  get 
on  in  life,  you  will  discover  that  ill-defined  notions  of  liberty 
are  inadequate  to  create  the  happiness  of  nations.  I,  before 
considering,  as  a  Lenoncourt,  what  an  aristocracy  is  or  ought 
to  be,  listen  to  my  peasant  commonsense,  which  shows  me 
that  society  exists  only  by  the  hierarchy.  You  are  at  a  stage 
in  your  life  when  you  must  make  a  wise  choice.  Stick  to  your 
party,  especially,"  she  added,  with  a  laugh,  ''when  it  is  on 
the  winning  side." 

I  was  deeply  touched  by  these  words,  in  which  wise  policy 
lurked  below  the  warmth  of  her  affection,  a  union  which 
gives  women  such  powers  of  fascination.  They  all  know  how 
to  lend  the  aspect  of  sentiment  to  the  shrewdest  reasoning. 

Henriette,  in  her  anxiety  to  justify  the  Count's  actions, 
had,  as  it  seemed,  anticipated  the  reflections  which  must  arise 
in  my  mind  when,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  the  results  of  being 
a  courtier.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  a  king  in  his  domain, 
surrounded  with  his  historic  halo,  had  assumed  magnificent 
proportions  in  my  eyes,  and  I  own  that  I  was  greatly  aston- 
ished at  the  distance  he  himself  set  between  the  Duchess  and 
himself  by  his  subservient  manner.  A  slave  even  has  his 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  89 

pride ;  he  will  only  obey  the  supreme  despot ;  I  felt  myself 
humbled  at  seeing  the  abject  attitude  of  the  man  who  made 
me  tremble  by  overshadowing  my  love.  This  impulse  of 
feeling  revealed  to  me  all  the  torment  of  a  woman  whose 
generous  soul  is  joined  to  that  of  a  man  whose  meanness  she 
has  to  cover  decently  every  day.  Respect  is  a  barrier  which 
protects  great  and  small  alike ;  each  on  his  own  part  can  look 
the  other  steadily  in  the  face. 

I  was  deferent  to  the  Duchess  by  reason  of  my  youth ;  but 
where  others  saw  only  the  Duchess,  I  saw  my  Henriette's 
mother,  and  there  was  a  solemnity  in  my  respect. 

We  went  into  the  front  court  of  Frapesle,  and  there  found 
all  the  party.  The  Comte  de  Mortsauf  introduced  me  to  the 
lady  with  much  graciousness,  and  she  examined  me  with  a 
cold,  reserved  manner.  Madame  de  Lenoncourt  was  then  a 
woman  of  fifty-six,  extremely  well-preserved,  and  with  lordly 
manners.  Seeing  her  hard,  blue  eyes,  her  wrinkled  temples, 
her  thin,  ascetic  face,  her  stately  upright  figure,  her  constant 
quiescence,  her  dull  pallor — in  her  daughter  brilliant  white- 
ness— I  recognized  her  as  of  the  same  race  as  my  own  mother, 
as  surely  as  a  mineralogist  recognizes  Swedish  iron.  Her 
speech  was  that  of  the  old  court  circles ;  she  pronounced  oit 
as  ait,  spoke  offrait  torfroid,  and  of  porteux  for  porteurs.  I 
was  neither  servile  nor  prim,. and  I  behaved  so  nicely  that,  as 
we  went  to  vespers,  the  Countess  said  in  my  ear,  "  You  are 
perfect." 

The  Count  came  up  to  me,  took  my  hand,  and  said,  "  We 
have  not  quarreled,  Felix?  If  I  was  a  little  hasty,  you  will 
forgive  your  old  comrade.  We  shall  probably  stay  to  dine 
here,  and  we  hope  to  see  you  at  Clochegourde  on  Thursday, 
the  day  before  the  Duchess  leaves  us.  I  am  going  to  Tours 
on  business.  Do  not  neglect  Clochegourde,  my  mother-in- 
law  is  an  acquaintance  I  advise  you  to  cultivate ;  her  drawing- 
room  will  pitch  the  keynote  for  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 
She  has  the  tradition  of  the  finest  society,  she  is  immensely 


90  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

well  informed,  and  knows  the  armorial  bearings  of  every 
gentleman  in  Europe  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest." 

The  Count's  good  taste,  aided  perhaps  by  the  counsels  of 
his  good  genius,  told  well  in  the  new  circumstances  in  which 
he  was  placed  by  the  triumph  of  his  party.  He  was  neither 
arrogant  nor  offensively  polite  ;  he  showed  no  affectation, 
and  the  Duchess  no  patronizing  airs.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
de  Chessel  gratefully  accepted  the  invitation  to  dinner  on  the 
following  Thursday. 

The  Duchess  rather  liked  me,  and  her  way  of  looking  at  me 
made  me  understand  that  she  was  studying  me  as  a  man 
of  whom  her  daughter  had  spoken.  On  our  return  from 
church  she  inquired  about  my  family,  and  asked  whether  the 
Vandenesse,  who  was  already  embarked  in  diplomacy,  were 
a  relation  of  mine. 

"He  is  my  brother,"  said  I. 

Then  she  became  almost  affectionate.  She  informed  me 
that  my  grand-aunt,  the  old  Marquise  de  Listomere,  had  been 
a  Grandlieu.  Her  manner  was  polite,  as  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf's  had  been  on  the  day  when  he  saw  me  for  the  first 
time.  Her  eyes  lost  that  haughty  expression  by  which  the 
princes  of  the  earth  make  you  feel  the  distance  that  divides 
you  from  them. 

I  knew  hardly  anything  of  my  family;  the  Duchess  told 
me  that  my  great-uncle,  an  old  abbe  whom  I  did  not  know 
even  by  name,  was  a  member  of  the  privy  council ;  that  my 
brother  had  received  promotion ;  and,  finally,  that,  by  a  clause 
in  the  charter,  of  which  I  had  heard  nothing,  my  father  was 
restored  to  his  title  of  Marquis. 

"  I  am  but  a  chattel,  a  serf  to  Clochegourde,"  said  I  to 
the  Countess  in  an  undertone. 

The  fairy  wand  of  the  restoration  had  worked  with  a 
rapidity  quite  astounding  to  children  brought  up  under  Im- 
perial rule.  To  me  these  changes  meant  nothing.  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  s  lightest  word  or  merest  gesture  were  the  only 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  91 

events  to  which  I  attached  any  importance.  I  knew  nothing 
of  politics,  nor  of  the  ways  of  the  world.  I  had  no  ambition 
but  to  love  Henriette  better  than  Petrarch  loved  Laura.  This 
indifference  made  the  Duchess  look  upon  me  as  a  boy. 

A  great  deal  of  company  came  to  Frapesle,  and  we  were 
thirty  at  dinner.  How  enchanting  for  a  young  man  to 
see  the  woman  he  loves  the  most  beautiful  person  present 
and  the  object  of  passionate  admiration,  while  he  knows  the 
light  of  those  chastely  modest  eyes  is  for  him  alone,  and  is 
familiar  enough  with  every  tone  of  her  voice  to  find  in  her 
speech,  superficially  trivial  or  ironical,  proofs  of  an  ever- 
present  thought  of  him,  even  while  his  heart  is  full  of  burn- 
ing jealousy  of  the  amusements  of  her  world  ! 

The  Count,  delighted  with  the  attentions  paid  him,  was 
almost  young  again ;  his  wife  hoped  it  might  work  some 
change  in  him ;  I  was  gay  with  Madeleine,  who,  like  all  chil- 
dren in  whom  the  body  is  too  frail  for  the  wrestling  soul, 
made  me  laugh  by  her  amazing  remarks,  full  of  sarcastic  but 
never  malignant  wit,  which  spared  no  one.  It  was  a  lovely 
day.  One  word,  one  hope,  born  that  morning  had  bright- 
ened all  nature,  and,  seeing  me  so  glad,  Henriette  was  glad 
too. 

"  This  happiness  falling  across  my  gray  and  cloudy  life  has 
done  me  good,"  she  told  me  next  day. 

Of  course  I  spent  the  morrow  at  Clochegourde ;  I  had  been 
exiled  for  five  days,  and  thirsted  for  life.  The  Count  had 
set  out  for  Tours  at  five  in  the  morning. 

A  serious  matter  of  dispute  had  come  up  between  the 
mother  and  daughter.  The  Duchess  insisted  that  the  Coun- 
tess should  come  to  Paris,  where  she  would  find  her  a  place  at 
court,  and  where  the  Count,  by  retracting  his  refusal,  might 
fill  a  high  position.  Henriette,  who  was  regarded  as  a  happy 
wife,  would  not  unveil  her  griefs  to  anybody,  not  even  to  her 
mother,  nor  betray  her  husband's  incapacity.  It  was  to  pre- 
vent her  mother  from  penetrating  the  secret  of  her  home  life 


92  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

that  she  had  sent  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  to  Tours,  where  he 
was  to  fight  out  some  questions  with  the  lawyers.  I  alone,  as 
she  had  said,  knew  the  secrets  of  Clochegourde. 

Having  learned  by  experience  how  effective  the  pure  air  and 
blue  sky  of  this  valley  were  in  soothing  the  irritable  moods 
and  acute  sufferings  of  sickness,  and  how  favorable  the  life  at 
Clochegourde  was  to  her  children's  health,  she  gave  these 
reasons  for  her  refusal,  though  strongly  opposed  by  the 
Duchess— a  domineering  woman  who  felt  humiliated  rather 
than  grieved  by  her  daughter's  far  from  brilliant  marriage. 
Henriette  could  see  that  her  mother  cared  little  enough  about 
Jacques  and  Madeleine,  a  terrible  discovery  ! 

Like  all  mothers  who  have  been  accustomed  to  treat  a 
married  daughter  with  the  same  despotism  as  they  exerted 
over  her  as  a  girl,  the  Duchess  adopted  measures  which 
allowed  of  no  reply;  now  she  affected  insinuating  kindness 
to  extract  consent  to  her  views,  and  now  assumed  a  bitter 
iciness  to  gain  by  fear  what  she  could  not  achieve  by  sweet- 
ness ;  then,  seeing  all  her  efforts  wasted,  she  showed  the  same 
acrid  irony  as  I  had  known  in  my  own  mother.  In  the 
course  of  ten  days  Henriette  went  through  all  the  heart-rend- 
ings  a  young  wife  must  go  through  to  establish  her  independ- 
ence. You,  who  for  your  happiness  have  the  best  of  mothers, 
can  never  understand  these  things.  To  form  any  idea  of  this 
struggle  between  a  dry,  cold,  calculating,  ambitious  woman 
and  her  daughter  overflowing  with  the  fresh,  genial  sweetness 
that  never  runs  dry,  you  must  imagine  the  lily,  with  which  I 
have  compared  the  Countess,  crushed  in  the  wheels  of  a 
machine  of  polished  steel.  This  mother  had  never  had  any- 
thing in  common  with  her  daughter ;  she  could  not  suspect 
any  of  the  real  difficulties  which  compelled  her  to  forego  every 
advantage  from  the  restoration,  and  to  live  her  solitary  life. 
This  word,  which  she  used  to  convey  her  suspicions,  opened 
a  gulf  between  the  women  which  nothing  could  ever  after 
bridge  over. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  93 

Though  families  duly  bury  their  terrible  quarrels,  look  into 
their  life  ;  you  will  find  in  almost  every  house  some  wide  in- 
curable wounds  blighting  natural  feeling ;  or  some  genuine 
and  pathetic  passion  which  affinity  of  character  makes  eternal, 
and  which  gives  an  added  shock  to  the  hand  of  death,  leaving 
a  dark  and  ineradicable  bruise  ;  or,  again,  simmering  hatred, 
slowly  petrifying  the  heart,  and  freezing  up  all  tears  at  the 
moment  of  eternal  parting. 

Tortured  yesterday,  tortured  to-day,  stricken  by  every  one, 
even  by  the  two  suffering  little  ones,  who  were  guiltless  alike 
of  the  ills  they  endured  and  of  those  they  caused,  how  could 
this  sad  soul  help  loving  the  one  person  who  never  gave  a 
blow,  but  who  would  fain  have  hedged  her  round  with  a  triple 
barrier  of  thorns,  so  as  to  shelter  her  from  storms,  from  every 
touch,  from  every  pain  ? 

Though  these  squabbles  distressed  me,  I  was  sometimes  glad 
as  I  felt  that  she  took  refuge  in  my  heart,  for  Henriette  con- 
fided to  me  her  new  griefs.  I  could  appreciate  her  fortitude 
in  suffering,  and  the  energy  of  patience  she  could  maintain. 
Every  day  I  understood  more  perfectly  the  meaning  of  her 
words,  "  Love  me  as  my  aunt  loved  me." 

"  Have  you  really  no  ambition?  "  said  the  Duchess  to  me 
at  dinner,  in  a  severe  tone. 

"Madame,"  replied  I,  with  a  very  serious  mien,  {f  I  feel 
myself  strong  enough  to  conquer  the  world  ;  but  I  am  only 
one-and-twenty,  and  I  stand  alone." 

She  looked  at  her  daughter  with  surprise ;  she  had  believed 
that,  in  order  to  keep  me  at  her  side,  the  Countess  had  snuffed 
out  all  my  ambition. 

The  time  while  the  Duchess  de  Lenoncourt  stayed  at 
Clochegourde  was  one  of  general  discomfort.  The  Countess 
besought  me  to  be  strictly  formal ;  she  was  frightened  at  a 
word  spoken  low ;  to  please  her  I  was  obliged  to  saddle  my- 
self with  dissimulation. 

The  great  Thursday  came ;   it  was  a  festival  of  tiresome 


94  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

formality,  one  of  those  days  which  lovers  hate,  when  they  are 
used  to  the  facilities  of  every-day  life,  accustomed  to  find  their 
place  ready  for  them,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house  wholly 
theirs.  Love  has  a  horror  of  everything  but  itself. 

The  Duchess  returned  to  enjoy  the  pomps  of  the  court,  and 
all  fell  into  order  at  Clochegourde. 

My  little  skirmish  with  the  Count  had  resulted  in  my  being 
more  firmly  rooted  in  the  house  than  before ;  I  could  come  in 
at  any  time  without  giving  rise  to  the  slightest  remark,  and 
my  previous  life  led  me  to  spread  myself  like  a  climbing  plant 
in  the  beautiful  soul  which  opened  to  me  the  enchanted  world 
of  sympathetic  feeling.  From  hour  to  hour,  from  minute  to 
minute,  our  brotherly  union,  based  on  perfect  confidence,  be- 
came more  intimate ;  we  were  confirmed  in  our  relative 
positions :  the  Countess  wrapped  me  in  her  cherishing  affec- 
tion in  the  white  purity  of  motherly  love ;  while  my  passion, 
seraphic  in  her  presence,  when  I  was  absent  from  her  grew 
fierce  and  thirsty  like  red-hot  iron.  Thus  I  loved  her  with  a 
twofold  love  which  by  turns  pierced  me  with  the  myriad  darts 
of  desire,  and  then  lost  them  in  the  sky,  where  they  vanished 
in  the  unfathomable  ether. 

If  you  ask  me  why,  young  as  I  was  and  full  of  vehement 
craving,  I  was  satisfied  to  rest  in  the  illusory  hopes  of  a  pla- 
tonic  affection,  I  must  confess  that  I  was  not  yet  man  enough 
to  torment  this  woman,  who  lived  in  perpetual  dread  of  some 
disaster  to  her  children,  constantly  expecting  some  outbreak, 
some  stormy  change  of  mood  in  her  husband ;  crushed  by 
him  when  she  was  not  distressed  by  some  ailment  in  Jacques 
or  Madeleine,  and  sitting  by  the  bed  of  one  or  the  other 
whenever  her  husband  gave  her  a  little  peace.  The  sound  of 
a  too  impassioned  word  shook  her  being,  a  desire  startled 
her;  for  her  I  had  to  be  love  enshrined,  strength  in  tender- 
ness; everything,  in  short,  that  she  was  for  others. 

And,  then,  I  may  say  to  you,  who  are  so  truly  woman,  the 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  95 

situation  had  its  enchanting  quietism,  moments  of  heavenly 
sweetness,  and  of  the  satisfaction  that  follows  on  tacit  renun- 
ciation. Her  conscientiousness  was  infectious,  her  self-immo- 
lation for  no  earthly  reward  was  impressive  by  its  tenacity ; 
the  living  but  secret  piety  which  held  her  other  virtues  to- 
gether affected  all  about  her  like  spiritual  incense.  Beside, 
I  was  young;  young  enough  to  concentrate  my  whole  nature 
in  the  kiss  she  so  rarely  allowed  me  to  press  on  her  hand, 
giving  me  only  the  back  of  it,  never  the  palm — that  being 
to  her,  perhaps,  the  border-line  of  sensuality.  Though  two 
souls  never  fused  and  loved  with  greater  ardor,  never  was  the 
flesh  more  bravely  or  victoriously  held  in  subjection. 

Later  in  life  I  understood  the  causes  of  my  complete  hap- 
piness. At  that  age  no  self-interest  distracted  my  heart,  no 
ambition  crossed  the  current  of  a  feeling  which,  like  an  un- 
stemmed  torrent,  fed  its  flow  with  everything  it  carried  before 
it.  Yes,  as  we  grow  older,  the  woman  is  what  we  love  in  a 
woman;  whereas  we  love  everything  in  the  first  woman  we 
love — her  children  are  our  children,  her  house,  her  interests, 
are  our  own ;  her  grief  is  our  greatest  grief;  we  love  her  dress 
and  her  belongings;  it  vexes  us  more  to  see  her  corn  spilt 
than  it  would  to  lose  our  own  money ;  we  feel  ready  to  quarrel 
with  a  stranger  who  should  meddle  with  the  trifles  on  the 
mantel.  This  sanctified  love  makes  us  live  in  another,  while 
afterward,  alas  !  we  absorb  that  other  life  into  our  own,  and 
require  the  woman  to  enrich  our  impoverished  spirit  with  her 
youthful  feeling. 

I  was  ere  long  one  of  the  family,  and  found  here  for  the 
first  time  the  infinite  soothing  which  is  to  an  aching  heart 
what  a  bath  is  to  the  tired  limbs;  the  soul  is  refreshed  on 
every  side,  anointed  in  its  inmost  folds.  You  cannot  under- 
stand this:  you  are  a  woman,  and  this  is  the  happiness  you 
give  without  ever  receiving  in  kind.  Only  a  man  can  know 
the  delicate  enjoyment  of  being  the  privileged  friend  of  the 
mistress  of  another  home,  the  secret  pivot  of  her  affections. 


96  Tff£  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY. 

The  dogs  cease  to  bark  at  you ;  the  servants,  like  the  dogs, 
recognize  the  hidden  passport  you  bear;  the  children,  who 
have  no  insincerities,  who  know  that  their  share  will  never 
be  smaller,  but  that  you  bring  joy  to  the  light  of  their  life — 
the  children  have  a  spirit  of  divination.  To  you  they  become 
kittenish,  with  the  delightful  tyranny  that  they  keep  for  those 
they  adore  and  who  adore  them ;  they  are  shrewdly  knowing, 
and  your  guileless  accomplices;  they  steal  up  on  tiptoe,  smile 
in  your  face,  and  silently  leave  you.  Everything  welcomes 
you,  loves  you,  and  smiles  upon  you.  A  true  passion  is  like 
a  beautiful  flower,  which  it  is  all  the  more  delightful  to  find 
when  the  soil  that  produces  it  is  barren  and  wild. 

But  if  I  had  the  delights  of  being  thus  naturalized  in  a 
family  where  I  made  relationships  after  my  own  heart,  I  also 
paid  the  penalties.  Hitherto  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  had  con- 
trolled himself  in  my  presence  ;  I  had  only  seen  the  general 
outline  of  his  faults,  but  I  now  discerned  their  application  in 
its  fullest  extent,  and  I  saw  how  nobly  charitable  the  Countess 
had  been  in  her  description  of  her  daily  warfare.  I  felt  all  the 
angles  of  his  intolerable  temper  ;  I  heard  his  ceaseless  outcries 
about  mere  trifles,  his  complaints  of  ailments  of  which  no  sign 
was  visible,  his  innate  discontent,  which  blighted  her  life,  and 
the  incessant  craving  to  rule,  which  would  have  made  him 
devour  fresh  victims  every  year.  When  we  walked  out  in  the 
evening,  he  chose  the  way  we  went ;  but,  wherever  it  might 
be,  he  was  always  bored  by  it ;  when  he  got  home  he  blamed 
others  for  his  fatigue — it  was  his  wife  who  had  done  it,  by 
taking  him  against  his  will  the  way  she  wanted  to  go;  he 
forgot  that  he  had  led  us,  and  complained  of  being  ruled  by 
her  in  every  trifle,  of  never  being  allowed  to  decide  or  think 
for  himself,  of  being  a  mere  cypher  in  the  house.  If  his  hard 
words  fell  on  silent  patience  he  got  angry,  feeling  the  limit 
to  his  power ;  he  would  inquire  sharply  whether  religion  did 
not  require  wives  to  submit  to  their  husbands,  and  whether  it 
was  decent  to  make  a  father  contemptible  before  his  children. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  97 

He  always  ended  by  touching  some  sensitive  chord  in  his  wife ; 
and  when  he  had  struck  it,  he  seemed  to  find  particular  pleasure 
in  this  domineering  pettiness. 

Sometimes  he  affected  gloomy  taciturnity  and  morbid  de- 
jection, which  frightened  his  wife  and  led  her  to  lavish  on 
him  the  most  touching  care.  Like  spoiled  children,  who 
exert  their  power  without  a  thought  of  their  mother's  alarms, 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  petted  like  Jacques  or  Madeleine;  of 
whom  he  was  very  jealous.  At  last,  indeed,  I  discovered  that 
in  the  smallest,  as  in  the  most  important  matters,  the  Count 
behaved  to  his  servants,  his  children,  and  his  wife  as  he  had 
to  me  over  the  backgammon. 

On  the  day  when  I  first  understood,  root  and  branch,  those 
miseries  which,  like  forest  creepers,  stifled  and  crushed  the 
movement  and  the  very  breathing  of  this  family,  which  cast  a 
tangle  of  fine  but  infinitely  numerous  threads  about  the 
working  of  the  household,  hindering  every  advance  of  fortune 
by  hampering  the  most  necessary  steps,  I  was  seized  with 
admiring  awe,  which  subjugated  my  love  and  crushed  it  down 
into  my  heart.  What  was  I,  good  God  !  The  tears  I  had 
swallowed  filled  me  with  a  sort  of  rapturous  intoxication  \  it 
was  a  joy  to  me  to  identify  myself  with  this  wife's  endurance. 
Till  then  I  had  submitted  to  the  Count's  tyranny  as  a  smug- 
gler pays  his  fines ;  thenceforth  I  voluntarily  received  the 
despot's  blows  to  be  as  close  as  possible  to  Henriette.  The 
Countess  understood,  and  allowed  me  to  take  my  place  at  her 
side,  rewarding  me  by  granting  me  to  share  her  penance,  as 
of  old  the  repentant  apostate,  eager  to  fly  heavenward  with 
his  brethren,  won  permission  to  die  in  the  arena. 

"  But  for  you  this  life  would  be  too  much  for  me,"  she  said 
one  night  when  the  Count  had  been  more  annoying,  more 
acrid,  and  more  whimsical  than  usual,  as  flies  are  in  great 
heat. 

He  had  gone  to  bed.     Henriette  and  I  sat  during  part  of 
the  evening  under  the  acacias  basking  in  the  beams  of  sunset, 
7 


98  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

the  children  playing  near  us.  Our  words,  mere  infrequent 
exclamations,  expressed  the  sympathetic  feelings  in  which  we 
had  taken  refuge  from  our  common  sufferings.  When  words 
failed  us,  silence  served  us  faithfully;  our  souls  entered  into 
each  other,  so  to  speak,  without  hindrance,  but  without  the 
invitation  of  a  kiss ;  each  enjoying  the  charm  of  pensive  torpor, 
they  floated  together  on  the  ripples  of  the  same  dream,  dipped 
together  in  the  river,  and  came  forth  like  two  nymphs  as 
closely  one  as  even  jealousy  could  wish,  but  free  from  every 
earthly  tie.  We  plunged  into  a  bottomless  abyss,  and  came 
back  to  the  surface,  our  hands  empty,  but  asking  each  other 
by  a  look,  "  Out  of  so  many  days,  shall  we  ever  have  one  single 
day  for  our  own  ?  ' ' 

When  rapture  culls  for  us  these  blossoms  without  root,  why 
is  it  that  the  flesh  rebels  ?  In  spite  of  the  enervating  poetry 
of  the  evening  which  tinged  the  brickwork  of  the  parapet 
with  sober  and  soothing  tones  of  orange ;  in  spite  of  the 
religious  atmosphere,  which  softened  the  shouts  of  the  chil- 
dren, leaving  us  at  peace,  longing  ran  in  sparks  of  fire  through 
my  veins  like  the  signal  for  a  blaze  of  rockets.  At  the  end 
of  three  months  I  was  beginning  to  be  dissatisfied  with  the 
lot  appointed  to  me ;  and  I  was  softly  fondling  Henriette's 
hand,  trying  thus  to  expend  a  little  of  the  fever  that  was 
scorching  me. 

Henriette  was  at  once  Madame  de  Mortsauf  again ;  a  few 
tears  rose  to  my  eyes,  she  saw  them,  and  gave  me  a  melting 
look,  laying  her  hand  on  my  lips. 

"Understand,"  said  she,  "that  this  costs  me  tears  too. 
The  friendship  that  asks  so  great  a  favor  is  dangerous." 

I  broke  out  in  a  passion  of  reproach,  I  spoke  of  all  I  suf- 
fered, and  of  the  small  alleviation  I  craved  to  help  me  to 
endure  it.  I  dared  tell  her  that  at  my  age,  though  the  senses 
were  spiritualized,  the  spirit  had  a  sex ;  that  I  could  die — but 
not  without  having  spoken. 

She  reduced  me  to  silence  with  a  flashing  look  of  pride,  in 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  99 

which  I  seemed  to  read  the  cacique's  reply,  "  Am  I  then  on  a 
bed  of  roses?"  Perhaps,  too,  I  was  mistaken.  Ever  since 
the  day  when,  at  the  gate  of  Frapesle,  I  had  wrongly  ascribed 
to  her  the  idea  which  would  build  our  happiness  on  a  tomb,  I 
had  been  ashamed  to  stain  her  soul  by  uttering  a  wish  tainted 
with  mere  criminal  passion. 

Then  she  spoke,  and  in  honeyed  words  told  me  that  she 
could  never  be  wholly  mine,  that  I  ought  to  know  that.  I 
understood,  as  she  spoke  the  words,  that  if  I  submitted,  I 
should  have  dug  a  gulf  between  us.  I  bent  my  head.  She 
went  on,  saying  that  she  had  an  inmost  conviction  that  she 
might  love  a  brother  without  offense  to  God  or  man ;  that 
there  is  some  comfort  in  thus  taking  such  an  affection  as  a 
living  image  of  Divine  love,  which,  according  to  the  good 
Saint-Martin,  is  the  life  of  the  world.  If  I  could  not  be  to 
her  some  such  person  as  her  old  director,  less  than  a  lover  but 
more  than  a  brother,  we  must  meet  no  more.  She  could  but 
die,  offering  up  to  God  this  added  anguish,  though  she  could 
not  endure  it  without  tears  and  torment. 

"  I  have  given  you  more  than  I  ought,"  she  said  in  conclu- 
sion, "  since  there  is  nothing  more  that  you  can  take,  and  I 
am  already  punished." 

I  could  but  soothe  her,  promise  never,  never  to  cause  her  a 
moment's  pain,  and  vow  to  love  her  at  twenty  as  old  men  love 
their  youngest  born. 

Next  morning  I  came  early  to  the  house.  She  had  no  flow- 
ers to  put  in  the  vases  in  her  gray  drawing-room.  I  tramped 
across  the  fields  and  through  the  vineyards,  hunting  for 
flowers  to  make  her  two  nosegays ;  and  as  I  gathered  them 
one  by  one,  cutting  them  with  long  stems  and  admiring  them, 
it  struck  that  there  was  a  harmony  in  their  hues  and  foliage,  a 
poetry  that  found  its  way  to  the  understanding  by  fascinating 
the  eye,  just  as  musical  phrases  arouse  a  thousand  associations 
in  loved  and  loving  hearts.  If  color  is  organic  light,  must  it 
not  have  its  meaning,  as  vibrations  of  the  air  have?  Helped 


100  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

by  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  all  three  of  us  happy  in  contriving 
a  surprise  for  our  dear  one,  I  sat  down  on  the  lower  steps  of 
the  terrace  flight,  where  we  spread  out  our  flowers  and  set  to 
work  to  compose  two  nosegays,  by  which  I  intended  to  sym- 
bolize a  sentiment. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  fountain  of  flowers,  gushing  up,  as  it 
were,  from  the  vase  and  falling  in  fringed  waves,  and  from 
the  heart  of  it  my  aspirations  rose  as  silver-cupped  lilies 
and  white  roses.  Among  this  cool  mass  twinkled  blue  corn- 
flowers, forget-me-not,  bugloss — every  blue  flower  whose  hues, 
borrowed  from  the  sky,  blend  so  well  with  white;  for  are 
they  not  two  types  of  innocence — that  which  knows  nothing 
and  that  which  knows  all — the  mind  of  a  child  and  the  mind 
of  a  martyr?  Love  has  its  blazonry,  and  the  Countess  read  my 
meaning.  She  gave  me  one  of  those  piercing  looks  that  are 
like  the  cry  of  a  wounded  man  touched  on  the  tender  spot ; 
she  was  at  once  shy  and  delighted.  What  a  reward  I  found 
in  that  look !  What  encouragement  in  the  thought  that  I 
could  please  her  and  refresh  her  heart  ! 

So  I  invented  Father  Castel's  theory  as  applied  to  love  and 
rediscovered  for  her  a  lore  lost  to  Europe,  where  flowers  of 
language  take  the  place  of  the  messages  conveyed  in  the  East 
by  color  and  fragrance.  And  it  was  charming  to  express  my 
meaning  through  these  daughters  of  the  sun,  the  sisters  of  the 
blossoms  that  open  under  the  radiance  of  love.  I  soon  had 
an  understanding  with  the  products  of  the  rural  flora,  just  as 
a  man  I  met  at  a  later  time  had  with  bees. 

Twice  a  week,  during  the  remainder  of  my  stay  at  Frapesle, 
I  carried  out  the  long  business  of  this  poetical  structure,  for 
which  I  needed  every  variety  of  grass,  and  I  studied  them  all 
with  care,  less  as  a  botanist  than  as  an  artist,  and  with  regard 
to  their  sentiment  rather  than  their  form.  To  find  a  flower 
where  it  grew  I  often  walked  immense  distances  along  the 
river-bank,  through  the  dells,  to  the  top  of  cliffs,  across  the 
sandhills  and  commons,  gathering  ideas  from  among  clumps 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  101 

of  heath.  In  these  walks  I  discovered  for  myself  pleasures 
unknown  to  the  student  who  lives  in  meditation,  to  the  hus- 
bandman engaged  on  some  special  culture,  to  the  artisan  tied 
to  the  town,  to  the  merchant  nailed  to  his  counting-house, 
but  known  to  some  foresters,  to  some  woodsmen,  to  some 
dreamers. 

Nature  has  certain  effects  of  boundless  meaning,  rising  to 
the  level  of  the  greatest  intellectual  ideas.  Thus,  a  blossom- 
ing heath  covered  with  diamonds  of  dew  that  hang  on  every 
leaf  sparkling  in  the  sun,  a  thing  of  infinite  beauty  for  one 
single  eye  that  may  happen  to  see  it.  Or  a  forest  nook,  shut 
in  by  tumbled  boulders,  broken  by  willows,  carpeted  with 
moss,  dotted  with  juniper  shrubs — it  scares  you  by  its  wild, 
hurtled,  fearful  aspect,  and  the  cry  of  the  hawk  comes  up  to 
you.  Or  a  scorching  sandy  common  with  no  vegetation  ;  a" 
stony,  precipitous  plateau,  the  horizon  reminding  you  of  the 
desert — but  there  I  found  an  exquisite  and  lonely  flower,  a 
pulsatilla  waving  its  violet  silk  pennon  in  honor  of  its  golden 
stamens  ;  a  pathetic  image  of  my  fair  idol,  alone  in  her  val- 
ley !  Or,  again,  broad  pools  over  which  nature  flings  patches 
of  greenery,  a  sort  of  transition  between  animal  and  vegetable 
being,  and  in  a  few  days  life  is  there — floating  plants  and 
insects,  like  a  world  in  the  upper  air.  Or,  again,  a  cottage 
with  its  cabbage  garden,  its  vineyard,  its  fences,  overhanging 
a  bog,  and  surrounded  by  a  few  meagre  fields  of  rye — em- 
blematic of  many  a  humble  life.  Or  a  long  forest  avenue, 
like  the  nave  of  a  cathedral  where  the  pillars  are  trees,  their 
branches  meeting  like  the  groins  of  a  vault,  and  at  the  end 
a  distant  glade  seen  through  the  foliage,  dappled  with  light 
and  shade,  or  glowing  in  the  ruddy  beams  of  sunset  like  the 
painted  glass  window  of  a  chancel,  filled  with  birds  for  chor- 
isters. Then,  as  you  come  out  of  the  grove,  a  chalky  fallow 
where  full-fed  snakes  wriggle  over  the  hot,  crackling  moss 
and  vanish  into  their  holes  after  raising  their  graceful,  proud 
heads.  And  over  these  pictures  cast  floods  of  sunshine,  rip- 


102  THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

pling  like  a  nourishing  tide,  or  piles  of  gray  cloud  in  bars  like 
the  furrows  on  an  old  man's  brow,  or  the  cool  tones  of  a 
faintly  yellow  sky  banded  with  pale  light — and  listen  !  You 
will  hear  vague  harmonies  in  the  depth  of  bewildering  silence. 

During  the  months  of  September  and  October  I  never  col- 
lected a  nosegay  which  took  me  less  than  three  hours  of  seek- 
ing, I  was  so  lost  in  admiration — with  the  mild  indolence  of 
a  poet — of  these  transient  allegories  which  represented  to  me 
the  strongest  contrasts  of  human  life,  majestic  scenes  in  which 
my  memory  now  digs  for  treasure.  To  this  day  I  often  wed 
to  such  grand  spectacles  my  remembrance  of  the  soul  that 
then  pervaded  nature.  I  still  see  in  them  my  queen,  whose 
white  dress  floated  through  the  copse  and  danced  over  the 
lawns,  and  whose  spirit  came  up  to  me  like  a  promise  of  frui- 
tion from  every  flower-cup  full  of  amorous  stamens. 

No  declaration,  no  proof  of  unbounded  passion  was  ever 
more  contagious  than  were  these  symphonies  of  flowers, 
wherein  my  cheated  desires  gave  me  such  inspiration  as  Bee- 
thoven could  express  in  notes ;  with  vehement  reaction  on 
himself,  transcendent  heavenward  flights.  When  she  saw 
them  Henriette  was  no  longer  Madame  de  Mortsauf.  She 
came  back  to  them  again  and  again  ;  she  fed  on  them  ;  she 
found  in  them  all  the  thoughts  I  had  woven  into  them,  when, 
to  accept  the  offering,  she  looked  up  from  her  work-frame  and 
said,  "  Dear  !  how  lovely  that  is  !  " 

You  can  imagine  this  enchanting  communication  through 
the  arrangement  of  a  nosegay,  as  you  would  understand  Saadi 
from  a  fragment  of  his  poetry.  Have  you  ever  smelt  in  the 
meadows,  in  the  month  of  May,  the  fragrance  which  fills  all 
creatures  with  the  heady  joy  of  procreation ;  which,  if  you 
are  in  a  boat,  makes  you  dip  your  hands  in  the  water  ;  which 
makes  you  loosen  your  hair  to  the  breeze,  and  renews  your 
thoughts  like  the  fresh  greenery  on  the  trees  of  the  forest  ? 
A  small  grass,  the  vernal  anthoxanthum,  is  one  of  the  chief 
elements  in  this  mysterious  combination.  No  one  can  wear 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  103 

it  with  impunity.  If  you  put  a  few  sprays  of  it  in  a  nosegay, 
with  its  shining  variegated  blades  like  a  finely  striped  green- 
and-white  dress,  unaccountable  pulses  will  stir  within  you, 
opening  the  rosebuds  in  your  heart  that  modesty  keeps  closed. 
Imagine,  then,  round  the  wide  edge  of  the  china  jar  a  border 
composed  entirely  of  the  white  tufts  peculiar  to  a  sedum  that 
grows  in  the  vineyards  of  Touraine,  a  faint  image  of  the 
wished-for  forms,  bowed  like  a  submissive  slave-girl.  From 
this  base  rise  the  tendrils  of  bindweed  with  its  white  funnels, 
bunches  of  pink  rest-harrow  mingled  with  young  shoots  of 
oak  gorgeously  tinted  and  lustrous  ;  these  all  stand  forward, 
humbly  drooping  like  weeping  willow,  timid  and  suppliant 
like  prayers.  Above,  you  see  the  slender  blossoming  sprays, 
for  ever  tremulous,  of  quaking  grass  and  its  stream  of  yellowish 
anthers;  the  snowy  tufts  of  feathergrass  from  brook  and 
meadow,  the  green  hair  of  the  barren  brome,  the  frail  agrostis 
— pale,  purple  hopes  that  crown  our  earliest  dreams,  and  that 
stand  out  against  the  gray-green  background  in  the  light  that 
plays  on  all  these  flowering  grasses.  Above  these,  again, 
there  are  a  few  China  roses,  mingling  with  the  light  tracery 
of  carrot  leaves  with  plumes  of  cottongrass,  marabout  tufts  of 
meadow-sweet,  umbels  of  wild  parsley,  the  pale  hair  of  trav- 
elers' joy,  now  in  seed ;  the  tiny  crosslets  of  milky- white 
candytuft  and  milfoil,  the  loose  sprays  of  rose-and-black  fumi- 
tory, tendrils  of  the  vine,  twisted  branches  of  the  honey- 
suckle— in  short,  every  form  these  artless  creatures  can  show 
that  is  wildest  and  most  ragged — flamboyant  and  trident ; 
spear-shaped,  dentate  leaves,  and  stems  as  knotted  as  desire 
writhing  in  the  depths  of  the  soul.  And  from  the  heart  of 
this  overflowing  torrent  of  love,  a  grand  red  double  poppy 
stands  up  with  bursting  buds,  flaunting  its  burning  flame 
above  starry  jessamine  and  above  the  ceaseless  shower  of 
pollen,  a  cloud  dancing  in  the  air  and  reflecting  the  sunshine 
in  its  glittering  motes.  Would  not  any  woman,  who  is  alive 
to  the  seductive  perfume  that  lurks  in  the  anthoxanthum, 


104  THE   LILY   OF   THE    VALLEY. 

understand  this  mass  of  abject  ideas,  this  tender  whiteness 
broken  by  uncontrollable  impulses,  and  this  red  fire  of  love 
imploring  joys  denied  it  in  the  hundred  struggles  of  an  un- 
dying, unwearied,  and  eternal  passion  ?  Set  this  appeal  in 
the  sunshine  of  a  window  so  as  to  do  justice  to  all  its  subtle 
details,  its  delicate  contrasts  and  arabesque  elegance,  that  its 
mistress  may  see  perhaps  an  open  blossom  moist  with  a  tear — 
she  will  be  very  near  yielding ;  an  angel,  or  the  voice  of  her 
children,  alone  will  check  her  on  the  edge  of  the  abyss. 

What  do  we  offer  up  to  God?  Incense,  light  and  song, 
the  purest  expression  at  our  command.  Well,  then,  was  not 
all  that  we  offer  to  God  dedicated  to  love  in  this  poem  of 
glowing  flowers,  ever  murmuring  sadly  to  the  heart  while 
encouraging  hidden  raptures,  unconfessed  hopes,  and  illusions 
which  flash  and  are  gone  like  shooting  stars  on  a  hot  night  ? 

These  neutral  pleasures  were  a  comfort  to  us,  helping  us  to 
cheat  nature,  exasperated  by  long  study  of  the  beloved  face 
and  by  glances  which  find  enjoyment  in  piercing  to  the  very 
core  of  the  form  they  gaze  on.  To  me — I  dare  not  say  to 
her — these  utterances  were  like  the  rifts  through  which  the 
water  spurts  in  a  solid  dyke,  and  which  often  prevent  a  catas- 
trophe by  affording  a  necessary  outlet.  Abstinence  brings 
overwhelming  exhaustion  that  finds  succor  in  the  few  crumbs 
dropping  from  the  sky,  which,  from  Dan  to  the  Sahara,  sheds 
manna  on  the  pilgrim.  And  I  have  found  Henriette  before 
one  of  those  nosegays,  her  hands  hanging  loosely,  a  prey  to 
those  stormy  contemplations  when  the  feelings  swell  the 
bosom,  give  light  to  the  brow,  surge  up  in  waves  that  toss  and 
foam  and  leave  us  enervated  by  exhaustion. 

I  have  never  since  gathered  nosegays  for  any  one  ! 

When  we  had  invented  this  language  for  our  own  use,  we 
felt  the  sort  of  satisfaction  that  a  slave  finds  in  deceiving  his 
master. 

All  the  rest  of  the  month,  when  I  hurried  up  the  garden,  I 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  105 

often  saw  her  face  at  the  window,  and  when  I  went  into  the 
drawing-room  she  was  sitting  at  her  frame.  If  I  did  not 
arrive  punctually  at  the  time  we  had  agreed  upon,  without 
ever  fixing  an  hour,  I  sometimes  saw  her  white  figure  on  the 
terrace,  and  when  I  found  her  there  she  would  say — 

"  I  came  to  meet  you  to-day.  Must  we  not  pet  the  youngest 
child?" 

The  dreadful  games  of  backgammon  with  the  Count  had 
come  to  an  end.  His  recent  purchases  required  him  to  be 
constantly  busy,  inspecting,  verifying,  measuring,  and  plan- 
ning ;  he  had  orders  to  give,  field-work  that  required  the 
master's  eye,  and  matters  to  be  settled  between  him  and  his 
wife.  The  Countess  and  I  frequently  walked  out  to  join  him 
on  his  new  land,  taking  the  two  children,  who  all  the  way 
would  run  after  butterflies,  stag-beetles,  and  crickets;  and 
gather  nosegays  too — or,  to  be  exact,  sheaves  of  flowers. 

To  walk  with  the  woman  he  loves,  to  have  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  to  pick  her  road  for  her !  These  infinite  joys  are 
enough  for  a  man's  lifetime.  Their  talk  is  then  so  confiding! 
We  went  alone,  we  came  back  with  the  general — a  little 
mocking  name  we  gave  the  Count  when  he  was  in  a  good 
humor.  This  difference  in  our  order  of  march  tinged  our 
happiness  by  a  contrast  of  which  the  secret  is  known  only  to 
hearts  which  meet  under  difficulties.  On  our  way  home,  this 
felicity — a  look,  a  pressure  of  the  hand — was  checkered  by 
uneasiness.  Our  speech,  freely  uttered  as  we  went,  had 
mysterious  meanings  as  we  came  back,  when  one  of  us,  after  a 
pause,  found  a  reply  to  some  insidious  inquiry,  or  a  discussion 
we  had  begun  was  carried  on  in  the  enigmatic  phraseology  to 
which  our  language  lends  itself,  and  which  women  invent  so 
cleverly.  Who  has  not  known  the  pleasure  of  such  an  under- 
standing, in  an  unknown  sphere,  as  it  were,  where  spirits 
move  apart  from  the  crowd  and  meet  superior  to  all  ordinary 
laws?  Once  a  mad  hope  rose  in  me,  to  be  immediately 
crushed  when,  in  reply  to  the  Count  who  asked  what  we  were 


106  THE  LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

talking  about,  Henrietta  said  something  with  a  double  mean- 
ing, which  he  took  quite  simply.  This  innocent  jest  amused 
Madeleine,  but  it  brought  a  blush  to  her  mother's  cheek ; 
and,  by  a  stern  look,  she  told  me  that  she  was  capable  of 
withdrawing  her  soul  as  she  had  once  withdrawn  her  hand, 
intending  to  be  always  a  blameless  wife.  But  a  purely  spir- 
itual union  has  such  charms  that  we  did  the  same  again  on 
the  morrow. 

Thus  the  hours,  days,  and  weeks  flew  on,  full  of  ever-new 
felicity.  We  had  come  to  the  season  of  the  vintage,  in 
Touraine  always  a  high  festival.  By  the  end  of  September 
the  sun  is  less  fierce  than  during  harvest,  making  it  safe  to 
linger  in  the  open  air  without  fear  of  sunstroke  or  fatigue. 
It  is  easier,  too,  to  gather  grapes  than  to  reap  corn.  The  fruit 
is  fully  ripe.  The  crops  are  carried,  bread  is  cheaper,  and  in- 
creased abundance  makes  life  brighter.  Then  the  fears  that 
always  hang  over  the  result  of  the  year's  toil,  in  which  so 
much  money  and  so  much  sweat  are  expended,  are  relieved 
by  filled  granaries  and  cellars  waiting  to  be  filled.  The  vint- 
age comes  as  a  jovial  dessert  to  the  harvest  feast,  and  the  sky 
always  smiles  on  it  in  Touraine,  where  the  autumn  is  a  beau- 
tiful season. 

In  that  hospitable  province  the  vintagers  are  fed  by  the 
owner ;  and  as  these  meals  are  the  only  occasions  throughout 
the  year  when  these  poor  laborers  have  substantial  and  well- 
cooked  food,  they  look  forward  to  them  as,  in  patriarchal 
households,  the  children  count  on  anniversary  festivals.  They 
crowd  to  the  estates  where  the  masters  are  known  to  be  open- 
handed.  So  every  house  is  full  of  people  and  provisions. 
The  winepresses  are  always  at  work.  The  world  seems  alive 
with  the  merry  gang  of  coopers  at  work,  the  carts  crowded 
with  laughing  girls  and  men,  who,  getting  better  wages  than 
at  any  other  time  of  year,  sing  on  every  opportunity.  Again, 
as  another  cause  of  enjoyment,  all  ranks  mingle — women  and 
children,  masters  and  servants,  every  one  takes  part  in  the 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  107 

sacred  gathering.  These  various  circumstances  may  account 
for  the  joviality,  traditional  from  age  to  age,  which  breaks 
forth  in  these  last  fine  days  of  the  year,  and  of  which  the 
remembrance  inspired  Rabelais  of  yore  to  give  a  Bacchic 
form  to  his  great  work. 

Jacques  and  Madeleine,  who  had  always  been  ailing,  had 
never  before  taken  part  in  the  vintage,  nor  had  I,  and  they 
found  childlike  delight  in  seeing  me  a  sharer  in  their  pleasure. 
Their  mother  had  promised  to  come  with  us.  We  had  been 
to  Villaines,  where  the  country  baskets  are  made,  and  had 
ordered  very  nice  ones ;  we  four  were  to  gather  the  fruit  off  a 
few  rows  left  for  us ;  but  we  all  promised  not  to  eat  too  many 
grapes.  The  Gros  Co  of  the  Touraine  vineyards  is  so  deli- 
cious eaten  fresh,  that  the  finest  table  grapes  are  scorned  in 
comparison.  Jacques  made  me  solemnly  promise  that  I  would 
go  to  see  no  other  vineyards,  but  devote  myself  exclusively 
to  the  Clos  of  Clochegourde.  Never  had  these  two  little 
creatures,  usually  so  wan  and  pale,  been  so  bright,  and  rosy, 
and  excited,  and  busy  as  they  were  that  morning.  They  chat- 
tered for  the  sake  of  chattering,  went  and  came  and  trotted 
about  for  no  visible  reason  but  that,  like  other  children,  they 
had  too  much  vitality  to  work  off;  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  had  never  seen  them  so  well.  And  I  was  a  child 
with  them,  more  a  child  than  they  were  perhaps,  for  I  too 
hoped  for  my  harvest. 

The  weather  was  glorious ;  we  went  up  to  the  vineyards 
and  spent  half  the  day  there.  How  we  vied  with  each  other 
in  seeking  the  finest  bunches,  in  seeing  which  could  fill  a 
basket  first !  They  ran  to  and  fro  from  the  vines  to  their 
mother,  every  bunch  was  shown  to  her  as  it  was  gathered. 
And  she  laughed  the  hearty  laugh  of  youth  when,  following 
the  little  girl  with  my  basketful,  I  said,  in  a  mocking  spirit 
of  playfulness,  like  Madeleine,  "And  look  at  mine,  too, 
mamma." 

"Dear  child,"  she  said  to  me,  " do  not  get  too  hot."    Then, 


108  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

stroking  my  hair  and  my  neck,  she  gave  me  a  little  slap  on 
the  cheek,  adding,  "  Thou  art  in  a  bath  !  " 

This  is  the  only  time  I  ever  received  from  her  that  verbal 
caress,  the  lover's  tu.  I  stood  looking  at  the  pretty  hedge- 
rows full  of  red  berries,  of  sloes,  and  blackberries;  I  listened 
to  the  children  shouting;  I  gazed  at  the  girls  pulling  the 
grapes,  at  the  cart  full  of  vats,  at  the  men  with  baskets  on 
their  backs— I  stamped  every  detail  on  my  memory,  down  to 
the  young  almond  tree  by  which  she  was  standing,  bright, 
flushed,  and  laughing,  under  her  parasol. 

Then  I  set  to  work  to  gather  the  fruit  with  a  steady,  word- 
less perseverance,  and  a  slow,  measured  step  that  left  my 
spirit  free.  I  tasted  the  ineffable  pleasure  of  a  physical  em- 
ployment such  as  carries  life  along,  regulating  the  rush  of 
passion  which,  but  for  this  mechanical  movement,  was  very 
near  a  conflagration.  I  learned  how  much  wisdom  comes  of 
labor,  and  I  understood  monastic  rule. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  days,  the  Count  was  neither 
sullen  nor  vicious.  His  boy  so  well,  the  future  Due  de  Lenon- 
court-Mortsauf,  rosy  and  fair,  and  smeared  with  grape-juice, 
gladdened  his  heart.  This  being  the  last  day  of  the  vintage, 
the  general  had  promised  his  people  a  dance  in  the  evening 
in  the  field  by  Clochegourde,  in  honor  of  the  return  of  the 
Bourbons;  thus  the  festival  was  to  be  complete  for  everybody. 
On  our  way  home,  the  Countess  took  my  arm ;  she  leaned  on 
me  so  as  to  let  my  heart  feel  all  the  weight  of  her  hand,  like 
a  mother  who  longs  to  impart  her  gladness,  and  said  in  my 
ear — 

"You  bring  us  good  fortune." 

And  to  me,  knowing  of  her  sleepless  nights,  her  constant 
alarms,  and  her  past  life,  through  which  she  had  indeed  been 
supported  by  the  hand  of  God,  but  in  which  all  had  been 
barren  and  weariful,  these  words,  spoken  in  her  deep,  soft 
voice,  brought  such  joys  as  no  woman  in  the  world  could  ever 
give  me  again. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  109 

"  The  monotonous  misery  of  my  days  is  broken  and  life  is 
bright  with  hope,"  she  added  after  a  pause.  "Oh,  do  not 
desert  me !  Do  not  betray  my  innocent  superstitions !  Be  my 
eldest,  the  providence  of  the  little  ones." 

This  is  no  romance,  Natalie;  none  can  discern  the  infinite 
depth  of  such  feelings  who  have  not  in  early  life  sounded  the 
great  lakes  on  whose  shores  we  live.  If  to  many  souls  the 
passions  have  been  as  lava-torrents  flowing  between  parched 
banks,  are  there  not  others  in  which  a  passion  subdued  by 
insurmountable  obstacles  has  filled  the  crater  of  the  volcano 
with  limpid  waters? 

We  had  one  more  such  festival.  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
wished  that  her  children  should  learn  something  of  practical 
life,  and  know  by  what  hard  labor  money  must  be  earned ; 
she  had,  therefore,  given  each  certain  revenues  depending  on 
the  chances  of  produce.  Jacques  was  owner  of  the  walnut 
crop,  Madeleine  of  the  chestnuts.  A  few  days  after  we  went 
forth  to  the  chestnut  and  walnut  harvests.  Thrashing  Made- 
leine's chestnut  trees;  hearing  the  nuts  fall,  their  spiny  husks 
making  them  rebound  from  the  dry  velvety  moss  of  the  unfer- 
tile soil  on  which  chestnuts  grow;  seeing  the  solemn  gravity 
of  the  little  girl  as  she  looked  at  the  piles,  calculating  their 
value,  which  meant  for  her  such  pleasures  as  she  could  give 
herself  without  control ;  then  the  congratulations  of  Manette, 
the  children's  maid,  the  only  person  who  ever  filled  the 
Countess'  place  with  them;  the  lesson  to  be  derived  from  this 
little  business,  of  toil  requisite  to  reap  the  humblest  harvest, 
so  often  imperiled  by  variation  of  climate — all  these  things 
made  up  a  little  drama,  the  children's  ingenuous  delight  form- 
ing a  charming  contrast  with  the  sober  hues  of  early  autumn. 

Madeleine  had  a  loft  of  her  own  where  I  saw  the  brown 
crop  safely  stowed,  sharing  in  her  delight.  I  am  thrilled  to 
this  day  as  I  remember  the  clatter  of  each  basketful  of  chest- 
nuts rolling  out  over  the  yellow  chaff  that  formed  the  flooring. 
The  Count  bought  some  for  the  house;  the  farm  bailiffs,  the 


110  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

laborers,  every  one  in  the  neighborhood  found  buyers  from 
"Mignonne,"  a  kindly  name  which  the  peasants  in  those 
parts  are  ready  to  give  even  to  a  stranger,  but  which  seemed 
especially  appropriate  to  Madeleine. 

Jacques  was  not  so  lucky  for  his  walnut  harvest.  It  rained 
several  days ;  but  I  comforted  him  by  advising  him  to  keep 
his  nuts  for  a  time  and  sell  them  later.  Monsieur  de  Chessel 
had  told  me  that  the  walnut  crop  had  failed  in  le  Brehemont, 
in  the  district  around  Amboise,  and  in  the  country  about 
Vouvray.  Nut  oil  is  very  largely  used  in  Touraine.  Jacques 
would  make  at  least  forty  sous  on  each  tree,  and  there  were 
two  hundred  trees,  so  the  sum  would  be  considerable.  He 
meant  to  buy  himself  a  saddle  and  bridle  for  a  pony.  His 
wish  led  to  a  general  discussion,  and  his  father  led  him  to 
consider  the  uncertainty  of  such  returns,  and  the  need  for 
making  a  reserve  fund  for  the  years  when  the  trees  should  be 
bare  of  fruit,  so  as  to  secure  an  average  income. 

I  read  the  Countess'  heart  in  her  silence ;  she  was  delighted 
to  see  Jacques  listening  to  his  father,  and  the  father  winning 
back  some  of  the  reverence  he  had  forfeited,  and  all  thanks 
to  the  subterfuge  she  had  arranged.  I  told  you  when  describ- 
ing this  woman  that  no  earthly  language  can  ever  do  justice 
to  her  character  and  genius.  While  these  little  scenes  are 
enacted  the  spirit  revels  in  them  with  joy,  but  does  not 
analyze  them ;  but  how  clearly  they  afterward  stand  out  against 
the  gloomy  background  of  a  life  of  vicissitude  !  They  shine 
like  diamonds,  set  amid  thoughts  of  baser  alloy  and  regrets 
that  melt  into  reminiscences  of  vanished  happiness !  Why 
should  the  names  of  the  two  estates  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  had  lately  purchased,  and  which  gave  them  so  much 
to  do — la  Cassine  and  la  Rh£toriere — touch  me  far  more  than 
the  greatest  names  in  the  Holy  Land  or  in  Greece  ?  ' '  Qut  aime, 
le  dire "  (Let  those  who  love  tell),  says  La  Fontaine.  Those 
names  have  the  talismanic  power  of  the  starry  words  used  in 
sorcery,  they  are  magical  to  me ;  they  call  up  sleeping  images 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  Ill 

which  stand  forth  and  speak  to  me  ;  they  carry  me  back  to 
that  happy  valley ;  they  create  a  sky  and  landscape.  But  has 
not  conjuration  always  been  possible  in  the  realm  of  the 
spiritual  world  ?  So  you  need  not  wonder  to  find  me  writing 
to  you  of  such  familiar  scenes.  The  smallest  details  of  that 
simple  and  almost  homely  life  were  so  many  ties,  slight  as 
they  must  seem,  which  bound  me  closely  to  the  Countess. 

The  children's  future  prospects  troubled  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  almost  as  much  as  their  feeble  health.  I  soon  saw  the 
truth  of  what  she  had  told  me  with  regard  to  her  unconfessed 
importance  in  the  business  of  the  property,  which  I  gradually 
understood  as  I  studied  such  facts  about  the  country  as  a  states- 
man ought  to  know.  After  ten  years'  struggles  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  had  at  last  reformed  the  management  of  the  lands. 
She  had  quartered  them — mis  en  quatre — a  term  used  in  those 
parts  for  the  rotation  of  crops,  a  method  of  sowing  wheat  on 
the  same  field  only  once  in  four  years,  so  that  the  land  yields 
some  crop  every  year  instead  of  lying  fallow.  To  overcome  the 
pig-headed  resistance  of  the  peasantry,  it  had  been  necessary 
to  cancel  the  old  leases,  to  divide  the  property  into  four  large 
holdings,  and  farm  on  half-profits,  the  system  peculiar  to  Tou- 
raine  and  the  adjacent  provinces.  The  landowner  provides 
the  dwelling  and  outbuildings,  and  supplies  seed  to  working 
farmers,  with  whom  he  agrees  to  share  the  cost  of  husbandry 
and  the  profits.  The  division  is  undertaken  by  a  metivier  (a 
farm  bailiff),  who  is  authorized  to  take  the  half  due  to  the 
proprietor ;  and  this  system,  a  costly  one,  is  complicated  by 
the  way  of  keeping  accounts,  which  leads  to  constant  changes 
in  the  estimate  of  the  shares. 

The  Countess  had  persuaded  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  to  keep 
a  fifth  farm,  consisting  of  the  enclosed  lands  round  Cloche- 
gourde,  in  his  own  hands,  partly  to  give  him  occupation,  but 
also  to  demonstrate  to  the  sharefarmers  by  the  evidence  of 
facts  the  superiority  of  the  new  methods.  Being  able  here  to 
manage  the  crops,  she  had  by  degrees,  with  womanly  tena- 


112  THE  LILV  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

city,  had  two  of  the  farmhouses  rebuilt  on  the  plan  of  the 
farms  in  Artois  and  Flanders.  Her  scheme  was  self-evident. 
She  intended,  when  the  leases  on  half-profits  should  expire, 
to  make  these  two  farms  into  first-class  holdings  and  let 
them  for  rent  in  money  to  active  and  intelligent  tenants,  so 
as  to  simplify  the  returns  to  Clochegourde.  Dreading  lest  she 
should  die  the  first,  she  was  anxious  to  leave  to  the  Count  an 
income  easily  collected,  and  to  the  children  a  property  which 
no  misadventure  could  make  ruinous. 

By  this  time  the  fruit  trees  planted  ten  years  since  were  in 
full  bearing.  The  hedges  which  guaranteed  the  boundaries 
against  any  dispute  in  the  future  had  all  grown  up.  The 
poplars  and  elms  were  flourishing.  With  the  recent  addi- 
tions, and  by  introducing  the  new  system  of  culture,  the 
estate  of  Clochegourde,  divided  into  four  large  holdings, 
might  be  made  to  yield  sixteen  thousand  francs  a  year  in  hard 
cash,  at  a  rent  of  four  thousand  francs  for  each  farm ;  exclu- 
sive of  the  vineyards,  the  two  hundred  acres  of  coppice  ad- 
joining and  the  home  farm.  The  lanes  from  these  farms 
were  all  to  come  into  an  avenue  leading  straight  from  Cloche- 
gourde to  the  Chinon  road.  The  distance  to  Tours  by  this 
road  was  no  more  than  five  leagues  ;  farmers  would  certainly 
not  be  lacking,  especially  at  a  time  when  everybody  was  talk- 
ing of  the  Count's  improvements  and  his  success,  and  the 
increased  return  from  his  land. 

She  proposed  to  spend  about  fifteen  thousand  francs  on 
each  of  the  newly  purchased  properties,  to  convert  the  houses 
on  them  into  fine  homesteads  so  as  to  let  them  to  advantage 
after  farming  them  for  a  year  or  two,  while  placing  there  as 
steward  a  man  named  Martineau,  the  most  trustworthy  of  the 
bailiffs,  who  would  presently  be  out  of  place ;  for  the  leases 
of  the  four  half-profit  farms  were  about  to  fall  in,  and  the 
moment  was  coming  for  uniting  them  into  two  holdings  and 
letting  them  for  a  rent  in  money. 

These  very  simple  plans,  complicated  only  by  the  necessary 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  113 

outlay  of  more  than  thirty  thousand  francs,  were  at  this  time 
the  subject  of  long  discussions  between  her  and  the  Count — 
terrible  arguments,  in  which  she  was  emboldened  only  by  the 
thought  of  the  children's  interests.  The  mere  thought,  "  If 
I  were  to  die  to-morrow,  what  would  become  of  them?" 
made  her  sick  at  heart.  Only  gentle  and  peaceable  souls,  to 
whom  rage  is  impossible,  and  who  long  to  see  the  peace  they 
feel  within  them  reign  around  them,  can  ever  understand 
what  an  effort  such  a  contest  needs,  what  rushes  of  blood 
oppress  the  heart  before  the  struggle  is  faced,  what  exhaustion 
follows  after  a  battle  in  which  nothing  has  been  won.  Just 
now,  when  her  children  were  less  wan,  less  starveling,  and 
more  full  of  life,  for  the  fruitful  season  had  had  its  effect  on 
them ;  just  now,  when  she  could  watch  their  play  with  moist- 
ened eyes,  and  a  sense  of  satisfaction  that  renewed  her 
strength  by  reviving  her  spirits,  the  poor  woman  was  a  victim 
to  the  insulting  thrusts  and  cutting  innuendoes  of  determined 
antagonism.  The  Count,  startled  by  these  changes,  denied 
their  utility  and  their  possibility  with  rigid  oppugnancy.  To 
all  conclusive  reasoning  he  answered  with  the  argument  of  a 
child  who  should  doubt  the  heat  of  the  sun  in  summer.  The 
Countess  won  at  last ;  the  triumph  of  commonsense  over  folly 
salved  her  wounds,  and  she  forgot  them. 

On  that  day  she  walked  to  la  Cassine  and  la  Rhetoriere,  to 
give  orders  for  the  buildings.  The  Count  went  on  in  front 
alone,  the  children  came  between,  and  we  followed  slowly  be- 
hind, for  she  was  talking  in  the  sweet,  low  voice  which  made 
her  speech  sound  like  tiny  ripples  of  the  sea  murmuring  on 
fine  sand. 

She  was  "sure  of  success,"  she  said.  A  rival  service  was 
about  to  start  on  the  road  between  Chinon  and  Tours  under 
the  management  of  an  active  man,  a  cousin  of  Manette's,  and 
he  wanted  to  rent  a  large  farmstead  on  the  high-road.  He 
had  a  large  family ;  the  eldest  son  would  drive  the  coach,  the 
second  would  attend  to  the  heavy  carrying  business,  while  the 
8 


114  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

father,  settled  at  la  Rabelaye,  a  farm  half-way  on  the  road, 
would  attend  to  the  horses  and  cultivate  the  ground  to  ad- 
vantage with  the  manure  from  the  stables.  She  had  already 
found  a  tenant  for  the  second  farm,  la  Baude,  lying  close  to 
Clochegourde ;  one  of  the  four  half-profit  farmers,  an  honest, 
intelligent,  and  active  man,  who  understood  the  advantages 
of  the  new  system,  had  offered  to  take  it  on  lease.  As  to  la 
Cassine  and  la  Rhetoriere,  the  soil  was  the  best  in  all  the 
country-side ;  when  once  the  houses  were  ready  and  the  fields 
fairly  started,  they  would  only  have  to  be  advertised  at  Tours. 
Thus,  in  two  years,  the  estate  would  bring  in  about  twenty-four 
thousand  francs  a  year ;  la  Gravelotte,  the  farm  in  le  Maine 
recovered  by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  had  just  been  let  for 
nine  years,  at  seven  thousand  francs  a  year ;  the  Count's  pen- 
sion as  major-general  was  four  thousand  francs ;  if  all  this 
could  not  be  said  to  constitute  a  fortune,  at  any  rate  it  meant 
perfect  ease ;  and  later,  perhaps,  further  improvements  might 
allow  of  her  going  some  day  to  Paris  to  attend  to  Jacques' 
education — two  years  hence,  when  the  heir  presumptive's 
health  should  be  stronger. 

How  tremulously  did  she  speak  the  word  Paris  !  And  I 
was  at  the  bottom  of  this  plan ;  she  wanted  to  be  as  little  apart 
as  possible  from  her  friend. 

At  these  words  I  caught  fire  ;  I  told  her  she  little  knew  me ; 
that,  without  saying  anything  to  her,  I  had  planned  to  finish 
my  own  education  by  studying  night  and  day  so  as  to  become 
Jacques'  tutor ;  for  that  I  could  never  endure  to  think  of  any 
other  young  man  at  home  in  her  house. 

On  this  she  grew  very  serious. 

"  No,  Felix,"  said  she.  "  This  is  not  to  be,  any  more  than 
your  becoming  a  priest.  Though  you  have  by  that  speech 
touched  my  motherly  heart  to  the  quick,  the  woman  cares  for 
you  too  well  to  allow  you  to  become  a  victim  to  your  fidelity. 
The  reward  of  such  devotion  would  be  that  you  would  be 
irremediably  looked  down  upon,  and  I  could  do  nothing  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  115 

prevent  it.  No,  no  !  Never  let  me  injure  you  in  any  way. 
You,  the  Vicomte  de  Vandenesse,  a  tutor  ?  You,  whose  proud 
motto  is  'We  se  Vend'  (For  no  guerdon).  If  you  were  Rich- 
elieu himself,  your  life  would  be  marred  for  ever.  It  would  be 
the  greatest  grief  to  your  family.  My  friend,  you  do  not  know 
all  the  insolence  such  a  woman  as  my  mother  can  throw  into 
a  patronizing  glance,  all  the  humiliation  into  one  word,  all 
the  scorn  into  a  bow  !  " 

"And,  so  long  as  you  love  me,  what  do  I  care  for  the 
world?" 

She  affected  not  to  hear,  and  went  on — 

"Though  my  father  is  most  kind  and  willing  to  give  me 
anything  I  may  ask,  he  would  not  forgive  you  for  having  put 
yourself  into  a  false  position  and  would  refuse  to  help  you 
on  in  the  world.  I  would  not  see  you  tutor  to  the  Dauphin  ! 
Take  society  as  you  find  it,  make  no  blunders  in  life.  My 
friend,  this  offer,  prompted  by " 

"  By  love,"  I  put  in. 

"No,  by  charity,"  said  she,  restraining  her  tears;  "this 
crazy  proposition  throws  a  light  on  your  character;  your  heart 
will  be  your  enemy.  I  insist  henceforth  on  my  right  to  tell 
you  certain  truths;  give  my  woman's  eyes  the  care  of  seeing 
for  you  sometimes. 

"Yes,  buried  here  in  Clochegourde,  I  mean  to  look  on 
silent  but  delighted  at  your  advancement.  As  to  a  tutor,  be 
easy  on  that  score ;  we  will  find  some  good  old  abb6,  some 
learned  and  venerable  Jesuit,  and  my  father  will  gladly  pay 
the  sum  needed  for  the  education  of  the  boy  who  is  to  bear 
his  name.  Jacques  is  my  pride  !  And  he  is  eleven  years 
old,"  she  added  after  a  pause.  "But  he,  like  you,  looks 
younger.  I  thought  you  were  thirteen  when  I  first  saw  you." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  la  Cassine  ;  Jacques  and  Mad- 
eleine and  I  followed  her  about  as  children  follow  their 
mother ;  but  we  were  in  the  way.  I  left  her  for  a  moment 
and  went  into  the  orchard,  where  the  elder  Martineau,  the 


116  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

gamekeeper,  with  his  son  the  bailiff,  were  marking  trees  to  be 
cut  down ;  they  discussed  the  matter  as  eagerly  as  if  it  were 
their  own  concern.  I  saw  by  this  how  much  the  Countess 
was  beloved.  I  expressed  myself  to  this  effect  to  a  day  laborer 
who,  with  one  foot  on  his  spade  and  his  elbow  on  the  handle, 
was  listening  to  the  two  men  learned  in  pomology. 

"Oh  yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "she  is  a  good  woman,  and  not 
proud,  like  those  apes  at  Azay,  who  would  leave  us  to  die 
like  dogs  rather  than  give  a  sou  extra  on  a  yard  of  ditching. 
The  day  when  she  leaves  the  place,  the  Virgin  will  cry  over 
it,  and  we  too.  She  knows  what  is  due  to  her,  but  she  knows 
what  hard  times  we  have  and  considers  us." 

With  what  delight  I  gave  all  my  spare  cash  to  that 
man  ! 

A  few  days  after  this  a  pony  was  bought  for  Jacques ;  his 
father,  a  capital  horseman,  wished  to  inure  him  very  gradually 
to  the  fatiguing  exercise  of  riding.  The  boy  had  a  neat  little 
outfit  that  he  had  bought  with  the  price  of  his  walnuts.  The 
morning  when  he  had  his  first  lesson,  riding  with  his  father 
and  followed  by  Madeleine's  shouts  of  glee  as  she  danced  on 
the  lawn  round  which  Jacques  was  trotting,  was  to  the 
Countess  her  first  high  festival  as  a  mother.  Jacques'  pretty 
collar  had  been  worked  by  her  hands ;  he  had  a  little  sky-blue 
cloth  coat,  with  a  varnished  leather  belt  around  the  waist, 
white  tucked  trousers,  and  a  Scotch  cap  over  his  thick,  fair 
curls;  he  really  was  charming  to  look  upon.  All  the  servants 
of  the  household  came  out  to  share  the  family  joy,  and  the 
little  heir  smiled  as  he  passed  his  mother,  without  a  sign  of 
fear. 

This  first  act  of  manliness  in  the  child  who  had  so  often 
been  at  death's  door,  the  hope  of  a  happier  future  of  which 
this  ride  seemed  the  promise,  making  him  look  so  bright, 
so  handsome,  so  healthy — what  a  delightful  reward  !  Then 
the  father's  joy,  looking  young  again,  and  smiling  for  the  first 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  117 

time  in  many  weeks,  the  satisfaction  that  shone  in  the  eyes 
of  the  assembled  servants,  the  glee  of  the  old  Lenoncourt 
huntsman,  who  had  come  over  from  Tours,  and  who,  seeing 
how  well  the  child  held  his  bridle,  called  out,  "  Bravo,  Mon- 
sieur le  Vicomte  !  " — all  this  was  too  much  for  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  and  she  melted  into  tears.  She,  who  was  so  calm  in 
distress,  was  too  weak  to  control  her  joy  as  she  admired  her 
boy  riding  round  and  round  on  the  path  where  she  had  so 
often  mourned  him  by  anticipation  as  she  carried  him  to  and 
fro  in  the  sun. 

She  leaned  on  my  arm  without  reserve,  and  said,  as  she 
turned  her  eyes  on  me — 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  never  been  unhappy.  Stay  with  us 
to-day." 

The  lesson  ended,  Jacques  flew  into  his  mother's  arms, 
and  she  clutched  him  to  her  bosom  with  the  vehemence 
that  comes  of  excessive  delight,  kissing  and  fondling  him 
again  and  again.  Madeleine  and  I  went  off  to  make  two 
splendid  nosegays  to  dress  the  dinner-table  in  honor  of  the 
young  horseman. 

When  we  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  the  Countess  said 
to  me — 

"  The  fifteenth  of  October  is  indeed  a  high  day  !  Jacques 
has  had  his  first  riding  lesson  and  I  have  set  the  last  stitch  in 
my  piece  of  work." 

"  Well,  then,  Blanche,"  said  the  Count,  laughing,  "  I  will 
pay  you  for  it." 

He  offered  her  his  arm  and  led  her  into  the  inner  court- 
yard, where  she  found  a  carriage,  a  present  from  her  father, 
for  which  the  Count  had  bought  a  pair  of  horses  in  England ; 
they  had  arrived  with  those  sent  to  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt. 
The  old  huntsman  had  arranged  all  this  in  the  courtyard 
during  the  riding  lesson.  We  got  into  the  carriage  and  went 
off  to  see  the  line  cleared  for  the  avenue  that  was  to  lead 
directly  into  the  Chinon  road,  and  that  was  cut  straight 


118  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

through  the  new  property  acquired  by  the  Count.  On  our  re- 
turn the  Countess  said  to  me,  with  deep  melancholy — 

"  I  am  too  happy ;  happiness  is  to  me  like  an  illness,  it 
overpowers  me  and  I  fear  lest  it  should  vanish  like  a  dream." 

I  was  too  desperately  in  love  not  to  be  jealous,  and  I  had 
nothing  to  give  her"!  In  my  fury  I  tried  to  think  of  some 
way  of  dying  for  her. 

She  asked  me  what  thoughts  had  clouded  my  eyes,  and  I 
told  her  frankly ;  she  was  more  touched  than  by  any  gifts  and 
poured  balm  on  my  spirit  when,  taking  me  out  on  the  terrace 
steps,  she  whispered  to  me — 

"Love  me  as  my  aunt  loved  me — is  not  that  to  give  your 
life  for  me  ?  And  if  I  take  it  so,  is  it  not  to  lay  me  under 
an  obligation  every  hour  of  the  day  ?  ' ' 

"  It  was  high-time  I  should  finish  my  piece  of  work,"  she 
went  on,  as  we  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  I  kissed 
her  hand  as  a  renewal  of  my  allegiance.  "  You  perhaps  do 
not  know,  Felix,  why  I  set  myself  that  long  task.  Men  find 
a  remedy  against  their  troubles  in  the  occupations  of  life ; 
the  bustle  of  business  diverts  their  minds;  but  we  women 
have  no  support  in  ourselves  to  help  us  to  endure.  In  order 
to  be  able  to  smile  at  my  children  and  my  husband  when  I 
was  possessed  by  gloomy  ideas,  I  felt  the  need  of  keeping  my 
grief  in  check  by  physical  exertion.  I  thus  avoided  the 
collapse  that  follows  any  great  effort  of  resolve,  as  well  as  the 
lightning  strokes  of  excitement.  The  action  of  lifting  my 
arm  in  measured  time  lulled  my  brain  and  acted  on  my  spirit 
when  the  storm  was  raging,  giving  it  the  rest  of  ebb  and  flow 
and  regulating  its  emotions.  I  told  my  secrets  to  the  stitches, 
do  you  see  ?  Well,  as  I  worked  the  last  chain,  I  was  thinking 
too  much  of  you  !  Yes,  my  friend,  far  too  much.  What 
you  put  into  your  nosegays  I  imparted  to  my  patterns." 

The  dinner  was  a  cheerful  one.  Jacques,  like  all  children 
to  whom  we  show  kindness,  jumped  upon  me  and  threw  his 
arms  around  my  neck  when  he  saw  the  flowers  I  had  picked 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  119 

him  by  way  of  a  crown.  His  mother  pretended  to  be  angry 
at  this  infidelity  to  her,  and  the  dear  child  gave  her  the  newly 
made  posy  she  affected  to  covet,  you  know  how  ingenuously 
and  sweetly. 

In  the  evening  we  played  backgammon,  I  against  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  and  the  Count  was  charming. 
Finally,  at  nightfall,  they  walked  with  me  as  far  as  the  turn- 
ing to  Frapesle,  in  one  of  those  placid  evenings  when  the 
harmony  of  nature  gives  added  depth  to  our  feelings  in  pro- 
portion as  it  soothes  their  vividness. 

It  had  been  a  day  by  itself  to  this  hapless  woman,  a  spark 
of  light  that  often  shone  caressingly  on  her  memory  in  days 
of  difficulty. 

For,  indeed,  before  long  the  riding  lessons  became  a  subject 
of  contention.  The  Countess,  not  unreasonably,  was  afraid 
of  the  Count's  hard  speeches  to  his  little  son.  Jacques  was 
already  growing  thinner,  and  dark  rings  came  around  his 
blue  eyes  ;  to  save  his  mother,  he  would  suffer  in  silence.  I 
suggested  a  remedy  by  advising  him  to  tell  his  father  he  was 
tired  when  the  Count  was  angry,  but  this  was  an  insufficient 
palliative,  so  the  old  huntsman  was  to  teach  him  instead  of 
his  father,  who  would  not  give  up  his  pupil  without  many 
struggles.  Outcries  and  discussions  began  again  ;  the  Count 
found  a  text  for  his  perpetual  fault-finding  in  the  ingratitude 
of  wives,  and  twenty  times  a  day  he  threw  the  carriage,  the 
horses,  and  the  liveries  in  her  teeth. 

Finally,  one  of  those  disasters  occurred  which  are  a  stalking- 
horse  for  such  tempers  and  such  maladies  of  the  brain  ;  the 
expense  of  the  works  at  la  Cassine  and  la  Rhetoriere,  where 
the  walls  and  floors  were  found  to  be  rotten,  amounted  to 
half  as  much  again  as  the  estimate.  A  clumsy  fellow  at  work 
there  came  to  report  this  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  instead  of 
telling  the  Countess  privately.  This  became  the  subject  of  a 
quarrel,  begun  mildly,  but  gradually  increasing  in  bitterness ; 
and  the  Count's  hypochondria,  which  for  some  days  had  been 


120  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

in  abeyance,  now  claimed  arrears  from  the  unfortunate  Hen- 
riette. 

That  morning  I  set  out  from  Frapesle,  after  breakfast,  at 
half-past  ten,  to  make  my  nosegays  at  Clochegourde  with 
Madeleine.  The  little  girl  brought  out  the  two  vases,  setting 
them  on  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace,  and  I  wandered  from 
the  gardens  to  the  fields,  seeking  the  lovely  but  rare  flowers  of 
autumn.  As  I  returned  from  my  last  expedition,  I  no  longer 
saw  my  little  lieutenant  in  her  pink  sash  and  frilled  cape, 
and  I  heard  a  commotion  in  the  house. 

"  The  general,"  said  Madeleine,  in  tears,  and  with  her  the 
name  was  one  of  aversion  for  her  father,  "  the  general  is 
scolding  our  mother  ;  do  go  and  help  her." 

I  flew  up  the  steps  and  went  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
neither  the  Count  nor  his  wife  saw  or  noticed  me.  Hearing 
the  madman's  noisy  outcries,  I  first  shut  all  the  doors,  and 
then  came  back,  for  I  had  seen  that  Henriette  was  as  white  as 
her  gown. 

"  Never  marry,  Felix,"  exclaimed  the  Count  excitedly. 
"  A  wife  has  the  devil  for  her  counselor  ;  the  best  of  them 
would  invent  evil  if  it  did  not  exist.  They  are  all  brute 
beasts." 

Then  I  had  to  listen  to  arguments  without  beginning  and 
without  end.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  recurring  to  his  original 
refusal,  now  repeated  the  sottish  remarks  of  the  peasants  who 
objected  to  the  new  system.  He  declared  that  if  he  had 
taken  the  management  of  Clochegourde,  they  would  have 
been  twice  as  rich  by  now.  He  worded  his  blasphemies  with 
insulting  violence ;  he  swore,  he  rushed  from  pillar  to  post, 
he  moved  and  banged  all  the  furniture,  and  in  the  middle  of 
a  sentence  he  would  stop  and  declare  that  his  marrow  was  on 
fire,  or  his  brain  running  away  in  a  stream,  like  his  money. 
His  wife  was  ruining  him  !  Wretched  man,  of  the  thirty-odd 
thousand  francs  a  year  he  possessed,  she  had  brought  him 
more  than  twenty  thousand.  The  fortune  of  the  Duke  and. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  121 

Duchess,  bringing  in  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year,  was  entailed 
on  Jacques. 

The  Countess  smiled  haughtily,  and  gazed  out  at  the  sky. 

"Yes!"  he  cried;  "you,  Blanche,  are  my  tormentor. 
You  are  killing  me  !  You  want  to  be  rid  of  me  !  You  are  a 
monster  of  hypocrisy  !  And  she  laughs  !  Do  you  know  why 
she  can  laugh,  Felix  ?  ' ' 

I  said  nothing,  and  hung  my  head. 

"  This  woman,"  he  went  on,  answering  his  own  question, 
"  denies  me  all  happiness — she  is  no  more  mine  than  yours, 
and  calls  herself  my  wife  !  She  bears  my  name,  but  she  ful- 
fills none  of  the  duties  which  laws,  human  and  divine,  require 
of  her  j  she  lies  to  God  and  man.  She  exhausts  me  with  long 
walks  that  I  may  leave  her  in  peace ;  I  disgust  her ;  she  hates 
me,  she  does  all  she  can  to  live  the  life  of  a  girl.  And  she  is 
driving  me  mad  by  imposing  privations  on  me — for  every- 
thing goes  to  my  poor  head.  She  is  burning  me  at  a  slow 
fire  and  believes  herself  a  saint — that  woman  takes  the  sacra- 
ment every  month  !  " 

The  Countess  was  by  this  time  weeping  bitterly,  humiliated 
by  the  disgrace  of  this  man,  to  whom  she  could  only  say  by 
way  of  remonstrance :  "Monsieur!  Monsieur!  Monsieur!" 

Although  the  Count's  words  made  me  blush  for  him  as 
much  as  for  Henriette,  they  moved  me  deeply,  for  they  found 
a  response  in  the  instinct  of  chastity  and  delicacy  which  is, 
so  to  speak,  the  very  material  of  a  first  love. 

"She  lives  a  maiden  at  my  expense !  "  cried  the  Count, 
and  again  his  wife  exclaimed — 

"  Monsieur !  " 

"What  do  you  mean,"  he  went  on,  "  by  your  pertinacious 
monsieur?  Am  I  not  your  master?  Must  I  teach  you  to 
know  it?" 

He  went  toward  her,  thrusting  out  his  white,  wolf-like  face, 
that  was  really  hideous,  for  his  yellow  eyes  had  an  expression 
that  made  him  look  like  a  ravenous  animal  coming  out  of  a 


122  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

wood.  Henrietta  slid  off  her  chair  on  to  the  floor  to  avoid 
the  blow  which  was  not  struck,  for  she  lost  consciousness  as 
she  fell,  completely  broken. 

The  Count  was  like  an  assassin  who  feels  the  blood-jet  of 
his  victim ;  he  stood  amazed.  I  raised  the  poor  woman  in 
my  arms,  and  the  Count  allowed  me  to  lift  her  as  if  he  felt 
himself  unworthy  to  carry  her;  but  he  went  first  and  opened 
the  door  of  the  bedroom  next  the  drawing-room,  a  sacred 
spot  I  had  never  entered.  I  set  the  Countess  on  her  feet, 
and  supported  her  with  my  arm  round  her  body,  while  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  took  off  the  upper  coverlet,  the  eiderdown 
quilt,  and  the  bedclothes ;  then,  together,  we  laid  her  down 
just  as  she  was.  As  she  recovered  consciousness,  Henriette 
signed  to  us  to  undo  her  waistband ;  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 
found  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  cut  through  everything.  I  held 
some  salts  to  her  nose,  and  she  presently  opened  her  eyes. 
The  Count  went  away,  ashamed  rather  than  grieved. 

Two  hours  went  by  in  perfect  silence,  Henriette  holding 
my  hand  and  pressing  it  without  being  able  to  speak.  Now 
and  again  she  looked  up  to  make  me  understand  that  she 
longed  only  for  peace  without  a  sound ;  then  there  was  a 
moment's  truce,  when  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and 
murmured  in  my  ear — 

"  Unhappy  man  !     If  you  could  but  know " 

She  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow  again.  The  remembrance 
of  past  sufferings,  added  to  her  present  anguish,  brought  on 
again  the  nervous  spasms,  which  I  had  soothed  only  by  the 
magnetism  of  love — its  effects  were  hitherto  unknown  to  me, 
but  I  had  used  it  instinctively.  I  now  supported  her  with 
gentle  and  tender  firmness,  and  she  gave  me  such  looks  as 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes. 

When  the  convulsive  attack  was  over,  I  smoothed  her  dis- 
ordered hair — the  first  and  only  time  I  ever  touched  it — then 
again  I  held  her  hand,  and  sat  a  long  time  looking  at  the 
room — a  brown-and-gray  room,  with  a  bed  simply  hung  with 


/    RAISED    THE    POOR     WOMAN     IN     MY     ARMS. 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  123 

cotton  chintz,  a  table  covered  with  an  old-fashioned  toilet 
set,  a  poor  sofa  with  a  stitched  mattress.  What  poetry  I  found 
here !  What  indifference  to  personal  luxury !  Her  only 
luxury  was  exquisite  neatness.  The  noble  cell  of  a  married 
nun,  stamped  with  holy  resignation,  where  the  only  adorn- 
ments were  a  crucifix  by  her  bed,  and  over  it  the  portrait  of 
her  aunt ;  then,  on  each  side  of  the  holy-water  shell,  sketches 
of  her  two  children,  done  in  pencil  by  herself,  and  locks  of 
their  hair  when  they  were  babies.  What  a  hermitage  for  a 
woman  whose  appearance  in  the  world  of  fashion  would  have 
cast  the  loveliest  into  the  shade  ! 

Such  was  the  retreat  where  tears  were  so  constantly  shed 
by  this  daughter  of  an  illustrious  race,  at  this  moment 
swamped  in  bitterness,  and  rejecting  the  love  that  might  have 
brought  her  consolation.  A  hidden  and  irremediable  mis- 
fortune !  The  victim  in  tears  for  the  torturer,  the  torturer  in 
tears  for  his  victim. 

When  the  children  and  the  maid  came  in,  I  left  her.  The 
Count  was  waiting  for  me ;  he  already  regarded  me  as  a  medi- 
ator between  his  wife  and  himself;  and  he  grasped  my  hands, 
exclaiming,  "  Stay  with  us;  stay  with  us,  Felix  !  " 

"Unluckily,"  said  I,  "  Monsieur  de  Chessel  has  company; 
it  would  not  do  for  his  guests  to  wonder  at  the  reason  for  my 
absence;  but  I  will  return  after  dinner." 

He  came  out  with  me  and  walked  to  the  lower  gate  with- 
out saying  a  word;  then  he  accompanied  me  all  the  way  to 
Frapesle,  unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing.  When  there,  I 
said  to  him — 

"  In  heaven's  name,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  leave  the  manage- 
ment of  your  house  to  her  if  she  wishes  it,  and  do  not  torment 
her." 

"  I  have  not  long  to  live,"  he  replied  seriously;  "she  will 
not  suffer  long  on  my  account ;  I  feel  that  my  head  will  burst. " 

He  turned  away  in  a  fit  of  involuntary  egoism. 

After  dinner  I  went  back  to  inquire  for  Madame  de  Mort- 


124  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

sauf,  and  found  her  better  already.  If  these  were  for  her  the 
joys  of  marriage,  if  such  scenes  were  to  be  frequently  re- 
peated, how  could  she  live  ?  What  slow,  unpunished  murder ! 
I  had  seen  this  evening  the  indescribable  torture  by  which 
the  Count  racked  his  wife.  Before  what  tribunal  could  such 
a  case  be  brought  ? 

These  considerations  bewildered  me ;  I  could  say  nothing 
to  Henriette,  but  I  spent  the  night  in  writing  to  her.  Of 
three  or  four  letters  that  I  wrote,  I  have  nothing  left  but  this 
fragment,  which  did  not  satisfy  me;  but  though  it  seems  to 
me  to  express  nothing,  or  to  say  too  much  about  myself  when 
I  ought  only  to  have  thought  of  her,  it  will  show  you  the  state 
of  my  mind. 

To  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

"  How  many  things  I  had  to  say  to  you  this  evening  that  I 
had  thought  of  on  the  way  and  forgot  when  I  saw  you  !  Yes, 
as  soon  as  I  see  you,  dearest  Henriette,  I  feel  my  words  out 
of  harmony  with  the  reflections  from  your  soul  that  add  to 
your  beauty.  And,  then,  by  your  side,  I  feel  such  infinite 
happiness  that  the  immediate  experience  effaces  every  memory 
of  what  has  gone  before.  I  am  born  anew  each  time  to  a 
larger  life,  like  a  traveler  who,  as  he  climbs  a  crag,  discovers 
a  new  horizon.  In  every  conversation  with  you  I  add  some 
new  treasure  to  my  vast  treasury.  This,  I  believe,  is  the 
secret  of  long  and  indefatigable  attachments.  So  I  can  only 
speak  of  you  to  yourself  when  I  am  away  from  you.  In  your 
presence  I  am  too  much  dazzled  to  see  you,  too  happy  to 
analyze  my  happiness,  too  full  of  you  to  be  myself,  made  too 
eloquent  by  you  to  speak  to  you,  too  eager  to  seize  the  present 
to  be  able  to  remember  the  past.  Understand  this  constant 
intoxication,  and  you  will  forgive  its  aberrations.  When  I 
am  with  you  I  can  only  feel. 

('  Nevertheless,  I  will  dare  to  tell  you,  dear  Henriette,  that 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  125 

never  in  all  the  joy  you  have  given  me,  have  I  felt  any  rapture 
to  compare  with  the  delights  that  filled  my  soul  yesterday 
when,  after  the  dreadful  storm,  in  which,  with  superhuman 
courage,  you  did  battle  with  evil,  you  came  back  to  me  alone 
in  the  twilight  of  your  room,  whither  the  unfortunate  scene 
had  led  me.  I  alone  was  there  to  know  the  light  that  can 
shine  in  a  woman  when  she  returns  from  the  portal  of  death  to 
the  gates  of  life,  and  the  dawn  of  ajiew  birth  tinges  her  brow. 
How  harmonious  was  your  voice  !  How  trivial  words  seemed 
— even  yours — as  the  vague  recollection  of  past  suffering  made 
itself  heard  in  your  adored  tones,  mingled  with  the  divine 
consolations,  by  which  you  at  last  reassured  me  as  you  thus 
uttered  your  first  thoughts  !  I  knew  that  you  shone  with 
every  choicest  human  gift,  but  yesterday  I  found  a  new  Hen- 
riette,  who  would  be  mine  if  God  should  grant  it.  I  had  a 
glimpse  yesterday  of  an  inscrutable  being,  free  from  the  bonds 
of  the  flesh,  which  hinder  us  from  exhaling  the  fire  of  the  soul. 
You  were  lovely  in  your  dejection,  majestic  in  your  weakness. 

"I  found  something  yesterday  more  beautiful  than  your 
beauty,  something  sweeter  than  your  voice,  a  light  more 
glorious  than  the  light  of  your  eyes,  a  fragrance  for  which 
there  is  no  name — yesterday  your  soul  was  visible  and  tan- 
gible. Oh  !  it  was  torment  to  me  that  I  could  not  open  my 
heart  and  take  you  into  it  to  revive  you.  In  short,  I  yester- 
day got  over  the  respectful  fear  I  have  felt  for  you,  for  did 
not  your  weakness  draw  us  nearer  to  each  other  ?  I  learned 
the  joy  of  breathing  as  I  breathed  with  you,  when  the  spasm, 
left  you  free  to  inhale  our  air.  What  prayers  flew  up  to  heaven 
in  one  moment !  Since  I  did  not  die  of  rushing  through  the 
space  I  crossed  to  beseech  God  to  leave  you  to  me  yet  awhile, 
it  is  not  possible  to  die  of  joy  or  of  grief. 

"  That  moment  has  left,  buried  in  my  soul,  memories  which 
can  never  rise  to  the  surface  without  bringing  tears  to  my 
eyes ;  every  joy  will  make  the  furrow  longer,  every  grief  will 
make  it  deeper.  Yes,  the  fears  that  racked  my  soul  yesterday 


126  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

will  remain  a  standard  of  comparison  for  all  my  sorrows  to 
come,  as  the  happiness  you  have  given  me,  dear  perpetual 
first-thought  of  my  life,  will  prevail  over  every  joy  that  the 
hand  of  God  may  ever  vouchsafe  me.  You  have  made  me 
understand  Divine  love,  that  trustful  love,  which,  secure  in' 
its  strength  and  permanency,  knows  neither  suspicion  nor 
jealousy. ' ' 

The  deepest  melancholy  gnawed  at  my  heart ;  the  sight 
of  this  home  was  heart-breaking  to  a  youth  so  fresh  and  new 
to  social  emotions — the  sight,  at  the  threshold  of  the  world, 
of  a  bottomless  gulf,  a  dead  sea.  This  hideous  concentration 
of  woes  suggested  infinite  reflections,  and  at  my  very  first  steps 
in  social  life  I  had  found  a  standard  so  immense  that  any 
other  scenes  could  but  look  small  when  measured  by  it.  My 
melancholy  left  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Chessel  to  suppose 
that  my  love  affair  was  luckless,  so  that  I  was  happy  in  not 
injuring  my  noble  Henriette  by  my  passion. 

On  the  following  day,  on  going  into  the  drawing-room,  I 
found  her  alone.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  holding 
out  her  hand;  she  said,  "Will  the  friend  always  persist  in 
being  too  tender  ?  ' '  The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes ;  she  got  up, 
and  added  in  a  tone  of  desperate  entreaty,  "  Never  write  to 
me  again  in  such  a  strain." 

Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  most  friendly.  The  Countess 
had  recovered  her  courage  and  her  serene  brow  ;  but  her 
pallor  showed  traces  of  yesterday's  trouble  which,  though 
subdued,  was  not  extinct. 

In  the  evening,  as  we  took  a  walk,  the  autumn  leaves  rust- 
ling under  our  feet,  she  said — 

"Pain  is  infinite,  joy  has  its  limits,"  a  speech  which  re- 
vealed the  extent  of  her  sufferings  by  comparison  with  her 
transient  happiness. 

"Do  not  calumniate  life,"  said  I.  "You  know  nothing 
of  love  ;  there  are  delights  which  flame  up  to  the  heavens." 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  127 

"Hush,"  said  she,  "I  do  not  want  to  know  them.  A 
Greenlander  would  die  in  Italy !  I  am  calm  and  happy  in 
your  society,  I  can  tell  you  all  my  thoughts ;  do  not  destroy 
my  confidence.  Why  should  you  not  have  the  virtue  of  a 
priest  and  the  charms  of  a  free  man  ?  ' ' 

"You  could  make  me  swallow  a  cup  of  hemlock,"  I  replied, 
laying  her  hand  on  my  heart,  which  was  beating  rapidly. 

"Again  !  "  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  as  if  she  felt 
some  sudden  pain.  "Do  you  want  to  deprive  me  of  the 
melancholy  joy  of  feeling  my  bleeding  wounds  stanched  by  a 
friend's  harid?  Do  not  add  to  my  miseries  ;  you  do  not  yet 
know  them  all,  and  the  most  secret  are  the  hardest  of  all  to 
swallow.  If  you  were  a  woman,  you  would  understand  the 
distress  and  bitterness  into  which  her  proud  spirit  is  plunged 
when  she  is  the  object  of  attentions  which  make  up  for  nothing, 
and  are  supposed  to  make  up  for  everything.  For  a  few  days 
now  I  shall  be  courted  and  petted  ;  he  will  want  to  be  forgiven 
for  having  put  himself  in  the  wrong.  I  could  now  gain  assent 
to  the  most  unreasonable  desires.  And  I  am  humiliated  by 
this  servility,  by  caresses  which  will  cease  as  soon  as  he  thinks 
I  have  forgotten  everything.  Is  it  not  a  terrible  condi- 
tion of  life  to  owe  the  kindness  of  one's  tyrant  only  to  his 
errors " 

"  To  his  crimes,"  I  eagerly  put  in. 

"  Beside,"  she  went  on,  with  a  sad  smile,  "I  do  not  know 
how  to  make  use  of  this  temporary  advantage.  At  this  mo- 
ment I  am  in  the  position  of  a  knight  who  would  never  strike 
a  fallen  foe.  To  see  the  man  I  ought  to  honor  on  the  ground, 
to  raise  him  only  to  receive  fresh  blows,  to  suffer  more  from 
his  fall  than  he  himself  does,  and  consider  myself  dishonored 
by  taking  advantage  of  a  transient  success,  even  for  a  useful 
end,  to  waste  my  strength,  and  exhaust  all  the  resources  of 
my  spirit  in  these  ignominious  struggles,  to  rule  only  at  the 
moment  when  I  am  mortally  wounded  ? Death  is  better  ! 

"  If  I  had  no  children,  I  should  let  myself  be  carried  down 


128  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

the  stream ;  but  if  it  were  not  for  my  covert  courage,  what 
would  become  of  them?  I  must  live  for  them,  however 
terrible  life  may  be.  You  talk  to  me  of  love  !  Why,  my 
friend,  only  think  of  the  hell  I  should  fall  into  if  I  gave  that 
man — ruthless,  as  all  weak  men  are — the  right  to  despise  me  ? 
I  could  not  endure  a  suspicion  !  The  purity  of  my  life  is  my 
strength.  Virtue,  my  dear  child,  has  holy  waters  in  which 
we  may  bathe,  and  emerge  born  again  to  the  love  of  God  !  " 

"  Listen,  dear  Henriette,  I  have  only  a  week  more  to  stay 
here,  and  I  want " 

"  What,  you  are  leaving  us?  "  said  she,  interrupting  me. 

"  Well,  I  must  know  what  my  father  has  decided  on  for  me. 
It  is  nearly  three  months " 

"I  have  not  counted  the  days,"  she  cried,  with  the  vehe- 
mence of  agitation.  Then  she  controlled  herself,  and  added, 
"  Let  us  take  a  walk ;  we  will  go  to  Frapesle." 

She  called  the  Count  and  the  children,  and  sent  for  a  shawl; 
then,  when  all  were  ready,  she,  so  deliberate  and  so  calm,  had  a 
fit  of  activity  worthy  of  a  Parisian,  and  we  set  out  for  Frapesle 
in  a  body,  to  pay  a  visit  which  the  Countess  did  not  owe. 

She  made  an  effort  to  talk  to  Madame  de  Chessel,  who, 
fortunately,  was  prolix  in  her  replies.  The  Count  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Chessel  discussed  business.  I  was  afraid  lest  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  should  boast  of  his  carriage  and  horses,  but  he 
did  not  fail  in  good  taste. 

His  neighbor  inquired  as  to  the  work  he  was  doing  at  la 
Cassine  and  la  Rhetoriere.  As  I  heard  the  question,  I  glanced 
at  the  Count,  fancying  he  would  avoid  talking  of  a  subject  so 
full  of  painful  memories  and  so  bitter  for  him  ;  but  he  demon- 
strated the  importance  of  improving  the  methods  of  agricul- 
ture in  the  district,  of  building  good  farmhouses  on  healthy, 
well-drained  spots  ;  in  short,  he  audaciously  appropriated  his 
wife's  ideas.  I  gazed  at  the  Countess  and  reddened.  This 
want  of  delicacy  in  a  man  who,  under  certain  circumstances, 
had  so  much,  this  oblivion  of  that  direful  scene,  this  adoption 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  129 

of  ideas  against  which  he  had  rebeled  so  violently,  this  belief 
in  himself,  petrified  me. 

When  Monsieur  de  Chessel  asked  him — 

"And  do  you  think  you  will  recover  the  outlay?  " 

"And  more  !  "  he  exclaimed  positively. 

Such  vagaries  can  only  be  explained  by  the  word  insanity. 
Henriette,  heavenly  soul,  was  beaming.  Was  not  the  Count 
showing  himself  to  be  a  man  of  sense,  a  good  manager,  an  ad- 
mirable farmer?  She  stroked  Jacques'  hair  in  rapture,  de- 
lighted for  herself  and  delighted  for  her  boy.  What  an  odious 
comedy,  what  a  sardonic  farce ! 

At  a  later  time,  when  the  curtain  of  social  life  was  raised 
for  me,  how  many  Mortsaufs  I  saw,  minus  the  flashes  of  chiv- 
alry and  the  religious  faith  of  this  man.  What  strange  and 
cynical  power  is  that  which  constantly  mates  the  madman  with 
an  angel,  the  man  of  genuine  and  poetic  feelings  with  a  mean 
woman,  a  little  man  with  a  tall  wife,  a  hideous  dwarf  with  a 
superb  and  beautiful  creature ;  which  gives  the  lovely  Juana  a 
Captain  Diard — whose  adventures  at  Bordeaux  you  already 
know ;  pairs  Madame  de  Beauseant  with  a  d' Ajuda,  Madame 
d'Aiglemont  with  her  husband,  the  Marquis  d'Espard  with  his 
wife  !  I  have,  I  confess,  long  sought  the  solution  of  this 
riddle.  I  have  investigated  many  mysteries,  I  have  discovered 
the  reasons  for  many  natural  laws,  the  interpretation  of  a  few 
sacred  hieroglyphics,  but  of  this  I  know  nothing ;  I  am  still 
studying  it  as  if  it  were  some  India  puzzle  figure,  of  which 
the  Brahmins  have  kept  the  symbolical  purpose  secret.  Here 
the  Spirit  of  Evil  is  too  flagrantly  the  master,  and  I  dare  not 
accuse  God.  Irremediable  disaster !  who  takes  pleasure  in 
plotting  you?  Can  it  be  that  Henriette  and  her  unrecognized 
philosopher  were  right?  Does  their  mysticism  contain  the 
general  purport  of  the  human  race  ? 

The  last  days  I  spent  in  this  district  were  those  of  leafless 
autumn,  darkened  with  clouds  which  sometimes  hid  the  sky 
of  Touraine,  habitually  clear  and  mild  at  that  fine  season  of 
9 


130  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

the  year.  On  the  day  before  I  left,  Madame  de  Mortsauf 
took  me  out  on  the  terrace  before  dinner. 

"  My  dear  Felix,"  said  she,  after  taking  a  turn  in  silence 
under  the  bare  trees,  "  you  are  going  into  the  world,  and  I 
shall  follow  you  there  in  thought.  Those  who  have  suffered 
much  have  lived  long.  Never  suppose  that  lonely  spirits 
know  nothing  of  the  world ;  they  see  and  judge  it.  If  I  am 
to  live  in  my  friend's  life,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  uneasy,  either 
in  his  heart  or  in  his  conscience.  In  the  heat  of  the  fray  it 
is  sometimes  very  difficult  to  remember  all  the  rules,  so  let  me 
give  you  some  motherly  advice,  as  to  a  son. 

"  On  the  day  when  you  leave,  dear  child,  I  will  give  you  a 
long  letter  in  which  you  will  read  my  thoughts  as  a  woman 
on  the  world,  on  men,  on  the  way  to  meet  difficulties  in  that 
great  seething  of  interests.  Promise  me  not  to  read  it  till 
you  are  in  Paris.  This  entreaty  is  the  expression  of  one  of 
the  sentimental  fancies  which  are  the  secret  of  a  woman's 
heart ;  I  do  not  think  it  is  possible  to  understand  it,  but  per- 
haps we  should  be  sorry  if  it  were  understood.  Leave  me 
these  little  paths  where  a  woman  loves  to  wander  alone." 

"I  promise,"  said  I,  kissing  her  hands. 

"Ah!"  said  she,  "but  I  have  another  pledge  to  ask  of 
you;  but  you  must  promise  beforehand  to  take  it." 

"Oh,  certainly!"  I  said,  thinking  it  was  some  vow  of 
fidelity. 

"  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  she  went  on,  with  a  bitter 
smile.  "  Felix,  never  gamble  in  any  house  whatever  ;  I  make 
no  exception." 

"I  will  never  play,"  I  promised. 

"  That  is  well,"  said  she.  "  I  have  found  you  a  better  use 
to  make  of  the  time  you  would  spend  at  cards.  You  will  see 
that  while  others  are  certain  to  lose  sooner  or  later,  you  will 
always  win." 

"How?" 

"The  letter  will  tell  you,"  she  replied  gaily,  in  a  way  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  131 

deprive  her  injunctions  of  the  serious  character  which  are 
given  to  those  of  our  grandmothers. 

The  Countess  talked  to  me  for  about  an  hour  and  proved 
the  depth  of  her  affection  by  betraying  how  closely  she  had 
studied  me  during  these  three  months.  She  had  entered  into 
the  secret  corners  of  my  heart,  trying  to  infuse  her  own  into 
it ;  her  voice  was  modulated  and  convincing,  showing  as 
much  by  the  tone  as  by  her  words  how  many  links  already 
bound  us  to  each  other. 

"  If  only  you  could  know,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "  with 
what  anxiety  I  shall  follow  you  on  your  way,  with  what  joy 
if  you  go  straight,  with  what  tears  if  you  bruise  yourself 
against  corners  !  Believe  me,  my  affection  is  a  thing  apart; 
it  is  at  once  involuntary  and  deliberately  chosen.  Oh  !  I  long 
to  see  you  happy,  powerful,  respected — you  who  will  be  to 
me  as  a  living  dream." 

She  made  me  weep.  She  was  at  once  mild  and  terrible. 
Her  feelings  were  too  frankly  expressed,  and  too  pure  to  give 
the  smallest  hope  to  a  man  thirsting  for  happiness.  In  return 
for  my  flesh,  left  torn  and  bleeding  in  her  heart,  she  shed  on 
mine  the  unfailing  and  unblemished  light  of  the  divine  love 
that  can  only  satisfy  the  soul.  She  bore  me  up  to  heights 
whither  the  shining  wings  of  the  passion  that  had  led  me  to 
kiss  her  shoulders  could  never  carry  me ;  to  follow  her  flight 
a  man  would  have  needed  to  wear  the  white  pinions  of  a 
seraph. 

"  On  every  occasion,"  said  I,  "I  will  think,  'What  would 
my  Henriette  say  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  I  want  to  be  both  the  Star  and  the  Sanctuary,"  said 
she,  alluding  to  my  childhood's  dreams,  and  trying  to  realize 
them,  so  as  to  cheat  my  desires. 

"You  will  be  my  religion,  my  light,  my  all,"  I  cried  in  a 
voice  of  rapture. 

"No,"  said  she.  "I  can  never  be  the  giver  of  your 
pleasures." 


132  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

She  sighed,  and  gave  me  a  smile  of  secret  sorrow,  the  smile 
of  a  slave  in  an  instant  of  revolt. 

From  that  day  forth  she  was  not  merely  a  woman  I  loved — 
she  was  all  I  loved  best.  She  dwelt  in  my  heart  not  as  a 
woman  who  insists  on  a  place  there,  whose  image  is  stamped 
there  by  devotion  or  excess  of  pleasure ;  no,  she  had  my 
whole  heart,  and  was  indispensable  to  the  action  of  its  mus- 
cles ;  she  became  what  Beatrice  was  to  the  Florentine  poet, 
or  the  spotless  Laura  to  the  Venetian — the  mother  of  great 
thoughts,  the  unknown  cause  of  saving  determinations,  my 
support  for  the  future,  the  light  that  shines  in  darkness  like  a 
lily  among  sombre  shrubs.  Yes,  she  dictated  the  firm  resolve 
that  cut  off  what  was  to  be  burned,  that  reinstated  what  was 
in  danger ;  she  endowed  me  with  the  fortitude  of  a  Coligny 
to  conquer  the  conquerors,  to  rise  after  defeat,  to  wear  out  the 
stoutest  foe. 

Next  morning,  after  breakfasting  at  Frapesle,  and  taking 
leave  of  the  hosts  who  had  been  so  kind  to  the  selfishness  of 
my  passion,  I  went  to  Clochegourde.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
de  Mortsauf  had  agreed  to  drive  with  me  as  far  as  Tours, 
whence  I  was  to  set  out  for  Paris  that  night.  On  the  way  the 
Countess  was  affectionately  silent ;  at  first  she  said  she  had 
a  headache  ;  then  she  colored  at  the  falsehood,  and  suddenly 
mitigated  it  by  saying  that  she  could  not  but  regret  to  see 
me  depart.  The  Count  invited  me  to  stay  with  them  if,  in 
the  absence  of  the  Chessels,  I  should  ever  wish  to  see  the 
valley  of  the  Indre  once  more.  We  parted  heroically,  with 
no  visible  tears;  but,  like  many  a  sickly  child,  Jacques  had  a 
little  emotional  spasm  which  made  him  cry  a  little ;  while 
Madeleine,  a  woman  already,  clasped  her  mother's  hand. 

"Dear  little  man!"  said  the  Countess,  kissing  Jacques 
passionately. 

When  I  was  left  alone  at  Tours,  after  dinner  I  was  seized 
by  one  of  those  inexplicable  rages  which  only  youth  ever  goes 
through.  I  hired  a  horse,  and  in  an  hour  and  a  quarter  had 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  133 

ridden  back  the  whole  distance  from  Tours  to  Pont  de  Ruan. 
There,  ashamed  of  letting  my  madness  be  seen,  I  ran  down 
the  road  on  foot,  and  stole  under  the  terrace  on  tiptoe,  like  a 
spy.  The  Countess  was  not  there ;  I  fancied  she  might  be 
ill.  I  had  still  the  key  of  the  little  gate,  and  I  went  in.  She 
was  at  that  very  moment  coming  down  the  steps  with  her  two 
children,  slowly  and  sadly,  to  revel  in  the  tender  melancholy 
of  the  landscape  under  the  setting  sun. 

"  Why,  mother,  here  is  Felix,"  said  Madeleine. 

"  Yes,  I  myself,"  I  whispered  low.  "  I  asked  myself  why 
I  was  at  Tours  when  I  could  easily  see  you  once  more.  Why 
not  gratify  a  wish  which,  a  week  hence,  will  be  beyond  fulfill- 
ment?" 

"  Then  he  is  not  going  away,"  cried  Jacques,  skipping  and 
jumping. 

"  Be  quiet,  do,"  said  Madeleine  ;  "  you  will  bring  out  the 
general. 

"This  is  not  right,"  said  the  Countess.  "What  mad- 
ness !  " 

The  words,  spoken  through  tears  in  her  voice,  were  indeed 
a  payment  of  what  I  may  call  usurious  calculations  in  love  ! 

"I  had  forgotten  to  return  you  this  key,"  I  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Then  are  you  never  coming  back  again  ?  "  said  she. 

"Can  we  ever  be  apart?"  I  asked,  with  a  look  before 
which  her  eyelids  fell  to  veil  the  mute  reply. 

I  went  away  after  a  few  minutes  spent  in  the  exquisite 
blankness  of  souls  strung  to  the  pitch  at  which  excitement 
ends  and  frenzied  ecstasy  begins.  I  went  away,  riding  slowly, 
and  constantly  looking  back.  When  I  gazed  at  the  valley 
for  the  last  time  from  the  top  of  the  down,  I  was  struck 
by  the  contrast  between  its  aspect  now  and  when  I  first  came 
to  it :  was  it  not  then  as  green,  as  glowing,  as  my  hopes  and 
desires  had  sprung  and  glowed.  Now,  initiated  into  the  dark 


134  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

and  melancholy  mysteries  of  a  home,  sharing  the  pangs  of  a 
Christian  Niobe,  as  sad  as  she,  my  spirit  overshadowed,  I  saw 
in  the  landscape,  at  this  moment,  the  hues  of  my  ideas.  The 
fields  were  cleared  of  their  crops,  the  poplar  leaves  were  fall- 
ing, and  those  that  remained  were  rust-color  ;  the  vine-canes 
were  burned,  the  woods  wore  solemn  tints  of  the  russet  which 
kings  of  yore  adopted  for  their  dress,  disguising  the  purple  of 
power  under  the  brown  hues  of  care.  And,  still  in  harmony 
with  my  thoughts,  the  valley  under  the  dying  yellow  rays  of 
the  warm  sun  presented  to  me  a  responsive  and  living  image 
of  my  soul. 

To  part  from  the  woman  we  love  is  a  very  simple  or  a  very 
dreadful  thing,  depending  on  one's  nature ;  I  suddenly  felt 
myself  in  an  unknown  land  of  which  I  could  not  speak  the 
language ;  I  could  find  nothing  to  cling  to,  as  I  saw  only 
things  to  which  my  soul  was  no  longer  attached.  Then  my 
love  unfolded  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  my  dear  Henriette  rose 
to  her  fall  dignity  in  the  desert  wherein  I  lived  only  by  mem- 
ories of  her.  It  was  an  image  so  piously  worshiped  that  I 
resolved  to  remain  unspotted  in  the  presence  of  my  secret 
divinity,  and  in  fancy  I  robed  myself  in  the  white  garb  of  a 
Levite,  imitating  Petrarch,  who  never  appeared  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Laura  but  in  white  from  head  to  foot. 

With  what  impatience  did  I  look  forward  to  the  first  night 
when  I  should  be  under  my  father's  roof,  and  might  read  the 
letter,  which  I  kept  feeling  during  my  journey,  as  a  miser 
feels  a  sum  in  bank-notes  that  he  is  obliged  to  carry  about 
with  him.  During  the  night  I  kissed  the  paper  on  which 
Henriette  had  expressed  her  will,  where  I  should  find  the 
mysterious  effluvium  of  her  touch,  whence  the  tones  of  her 
voice  would  fall  on  my  absorbed  mental  ear.  I  have  never 
read  her  letters  but  as  I  read  that  first  one,  in  bed,  and  in 
the  deepest  silence.  I  do  not  know  how  otherwise  we  can 
read  the  letters  written  by  a  woman  we  love  ;  and  yet  there 
are  men  who  mingle  the  reading  of  such  letters  with  the  busi- 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  135 

ness  of  daily  life,  taking  them  up  and  putting  them  down  with 
odious  coolness. 

Here,  then,  Natalie,  is  the  exquisite  voice  which  suddenly 
sounded  in  the  stillness  of  the  night ;  here  is  the  sublime 
figure  which  rose  before  me,  pointing  out  the  right  road  from 
the  cross-ways  where  I  now  stood  : 

"It  is  happiness,  my  friend,  to  be  obliged  to  collect  the 
scattered  fragments  of  my  experience  to  transmit  it  to  you 
and  arm  you  against  the  perils  of  the  world  in  which  you 
must  guide  yourself  with  skill.  I  have  felt  the  permitted  joys 
of  motherly  affection  while  thinking  of  you  for  a  few  nights. 
While  writing  this,  a  sentence  at  a  time,  throwing  myself  for- 
ward into  the  life  you  are  about  to  lead,  I  went  now  and 
again  to  my  window.  Seeing  the  turrets  of  Frapesle  in  the 
moonlight,  I  could  say  to  myself,  '  He  is  asleep,  while  I  am 
awake  for  his  sake,'  a  delightful  emotion  reminding  me  of  the 
first  happy  days  of  my  life  when  I  watched  Jacques  asleep  in 
his  cradle,  waiting  for  him  to  wake  to  feed  him  from  my 
bosom.  Did  you  not  come  to  me  as  a  child-man  whose  soul 
needed  comforting  by  such  precepts  as  you  could  not  find  to 
nourish  it  in  those  dreadful  schools  where  you  endured  so 
much,  and  as  we  women  have  the  privilege  of  affording  you  ? 

"These  trifles  will  influence  your  success  ;  they  prepare  and 
consolidate  it.  Will  it  not  be  a  form  of  spiritual  motherhood 
thus  to  create  the  system  to  which,  as  a  man,  you  must  refer 
the  various  acts  of  life,  a  motherhood  well  understood  by  the 
son  ?  Dear  Felix,  permit  me,  even  if  I  should  make  some 
mistakes,  to  give  our  friendship  the  seal  of  disinterestedness 
that  will  sanctify  it ;  for  in  giving  you  up  to  the  world,  am  I 
not  foregoing  every  claim  on  you?  But  I  love  you  well 
enough  to  sacrifice  my  own  joys  to  your  splendid  future. 

"  For  nearly  four  months  you  have  led  me  to  reflect 
strangely  on  the  laws  and  habits  that  govern  our  time.  The 
conversations  I  have  held  with  my  aunt,  of  which  the  purport 


136  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

must  be  given  to  you  who  have  taken  her  place ;  the  events 
of  Monsieur  de  Mortsaufs  life  as  he  has  related  them  to  me ; 
my  father's  dicta,  familiar  as  he  was  with  the  court;  the 
greatest  and  the  smallest  facts  have  risen  up  in  my  mind  for 
the  benefit  of  the  adopted  son  whom  I  see  now  about  to 
plunge,  almost  alone,  into  the  throng  of  men ;  about  to  find 
himself  without  an  adviser  in  a  country  where  many  perish  by 
a  heedless  misuse  of  their  best  qualities,  and  some  succeed  by 
a  clever  use  of  their  bad  ones. 

"  Above  all,  reflect  on  the  brief  utterance  of  my  opinion 
on  society  considered  as  a  whole — for  to  you  a  few  words  are 
enough.  Whether  social  communities  had  a  divine  origin,  or 
are  the  invention  of  man,  I  know  not,  nor  do  I  know  which 
way  they  are  going ;  one  thing  seems  certain,  and  that  is : 
that  they  exist.  As  soon  as  you  accept  a  social  life  instead  of 
isolation,  you  are  bound  to  adhere  to  its  constitutional  con- 
ditions, and  to-morrow  a  sort  of  contract  will  be  signed  be- 
tween it  and  you. 

"  Does  society,  as  now  constituted,  get  more  benefit  out  of 
a  man  than  it  gives  ?  I  believe  so ;  but  if  a  man  finds  in  it 
more  burden  than  profit,  or  if  he  purchases  too  dearly  the 
advantages  he  derives  from  it,  these  are  questions  for  the 
legislator  and  not  for  the  individual.  You  ought,  in  my 
opinion,  to  obey  the  general  law  in  all  things,  without  dis- 
puting it,  whether  it  hurts  or  advances  your  interest.  Simple 
as  this  principle  may  appear  to  you,  it  is  not  always  easy  of 
application ;  it  is  like  the  sap  which  must  permeate  the 
smallest  capillary  vessels  to  give  life  to  a  tree,  to  preserve  its 
verdure,  develop  its  bloom,  and  elaborate  its  fruit  to  a  magnifi- 
cence that  excites  general  admiration.  My  dear,  these  laws 
are  not  all  written  in  a  book  ;  customs  also  create  laws ;  the 
most  important  are  the  least  known ;  there  are  neither  pro- 
fessors, nor  treatises,  nor  any  school  of  that  law  which  guides 
your  actions,  your  conversation,  your  external  life,  and  the 
way  in  which  you  must  appear  in  the  world  and  meet  fortune. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  137 

If  you  sin  against  these  unwritten  laws,  you  must  remain  at 
the  bottom  of  the  social  community  instead  of  dominating 
it.  Even  though  this  letter  should  be  full  of  echoes  of  your 
own  thoughts,  suffer  me  to  set  before  you  my  woman's  policy. 

"To  formulate  society  by  a  theory  of  personal  happiness, 
grasped  at  the  cost  of  everybody  else,  is  a  disastrous  doctrine 
which,  strictly  worked  out,  would  lead  a  man  to  believe  that 
everything  he  secretly  appropriates,  without  any  offense  dis- 
cernible by  the  law,  by  society,  or  by  an  individual,  is  fairly 
his  booty  or  his  due.  If  this  were  the  charter,  then  a  clever 
thief  would  be  blameless;  a  wife  faithless  to  her  duties,  but 
undetected,  would  be  happy  and  good ;  kill  a  man,  and  so 
long  as  justice  can  find  no  proofs,  if  you  have  thus  won  a 
crown,  like  Macbeth,  you  have  done  well ;  your  own  interest 
becomes  the  supreme  law ;  the  only  question  is  to  navigate, 
without  witnesses  or  evidence,  among  the  obstacles  which  law 
and  custom  have  placed  between  you  and  your  satisfaction. 
To  a  man  who  takes  this  view  of  society,  my  friend,  the  pro- 
blem of  making  a  fortune  is  reduced  to  playing  a  game  where 
the  stakes  are  a  million  or  the  galleys,  a  position  in  politics  or 
disgrace.  And,  indeed,  the  green  cloth  is  not  wide  enough 
for  all  the  players  ;  a  sort  of  genius  is  ever  necessary  to  calcu- 
late a  coup. 

"  I  say  nothing  of  religious  beliefs  or  feelings ;  we  are  con. 
cerned  merely  with  the  wheels  of  a  machine  of  iron  or  of  gold, 
and  of  the  immediate  results  which  men  look  for. 

"  Dear  child  of  my  heart,  if  you  share  my  horror  of  this 
criminal  theory,  society  will  resolve  itself  in  your  eyes,  as  in 
every  healthy  mind,  into  a  theory  of  duty.  Yes,  men  owe 
service  to  each  other  under  a  thousand  different  forms.  In  my 
opinion,  the  duke  and  peer  has  far  greater  duties  to  the  artisan 
or  the  pauper  than  the  artisan  or  the  pauper  has  to  the  duke. 
The  obligations  laid  on  us  are  greater  in  proportion  to  the 
benefits  we  derive  from  society,  in  accordance  with  the 
axiom — as  true  in  commerce  as  in  politics — that  the  burden 


138  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

of  care  is  always  in  proportion  to  the  profits  accruing.  Each 
one  pays  his  debt  in  his  own  way.  When  our  poor  farmer 
at  la  Rhetoriere  comes  home  to  bed,  tired  out  with  his 
labor,  do  you  think  he  has  not  done  his  duty?  He  has 
undoubtedly  fulfilled  it  better  than  many  a  man  in  a  high 
position.  Hence,  in  contemplating  the  world  in  which  you 
desire  a  place  suitable  to  your  intelligence  and  your  faculties, 
you  must  start  with  this  maxim  as  fundamental  principle — 
Never  allow  yourself  to  do  anything  against  your  own  con- 
science or  against  the  public  conscience.  Though  my  in- 
sistency may  seem  to  you  superfluous,  I  beseech  you — yes, 
your  Henriette  beseeches  you — to  weigh  the  full  sense  of  these 
two  words.  Simple  as  they  may  seem,  they  mean,  my  dear, 
that  uprightness,  honor,  loyalty,  and  good  breeding  are  the 
surest  and  quickest  roads  to  fortune.  In  this  selfish  world  there 
will  be  plenty  of  people  to  tell  you  that  a  man  cannot  get  on 
by  his  feelings;  that  moral  considerations,  too  tenaciously 
upheld,  hamper  his  progress ;  you  will  see  ill-bred  men,  boorish 
or  incapable  of  taking  stock  of  the  future,  who  will  crush  a 
smaller  man,  be  guilty  of  some  rudeness  to  an  old  woman,  or 
refuse  to  endure  a  few  minutes'  boredom  from  an  old  man, 
saying  they  can  be  of  no  use ;  but  later  you  will  find  these 
men  caught  by  the  thorns  they  have  neglected  to  break,  and 
missing  fortune  by  a  trifle  ;  while  another,  who  has  early 
trained  himself  to  this  theory  of  duty,  will  meet  with  no  ob- 
stacles. He  may  reach  the  top  more  slowly,  but  his  position 
will  be  assured,  and  he  will  stand  firm  when  others  are  tottering 
to  a  fall. 

"When  I  add  that  the  application  of  this  principle  demands, 
in  the  first  place,  a  knowledge  of  manners,  you  will  fancy, 
perhaps,  that  my  jurisprudence  smacks  of  the  court  and  of  the 
teaching  I  brought  from  the  house  of  the  Lenoncourts.  My 
dear  friend,  I  attach  the  greatest  importance  to  this  training, 
trivial  as  it  may  seem.  The  manners  of  the  best  company  are 
quite  as  indispensable  as  the  varied  and  extensive  knowledge 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  139 

you  already  possess ;  they  have  often  taken  its  place  !  Some 
men,  ignorant  in  fact,  but  gifted  with  mother-wit,  and  used 
to  argue  soundly  from  their  ideas,  have  attained  to  greatness 
which  has  evaded  the  grasp  of  others,  their  superiors.  I  have 
watched  you  carefully,  Felix,  to  see  whether  your  education 
with  other  youths  in  various  schools  had  spoilt  anything 
in  you.  I  discerned,  with  great  joy,  that  you  may  easily 
assimilate  what  you  lack — little  enough,  God  knows !  In 
many  persons,  though  brought  up  in  good  traditions,  manners 
are  merely  superficial ;  for  perfect  politeness  and  noble  man- 
ners come  from  the  heart  and  a  lofty  sense  of  personal  dig- 
nity. This  is  why,  in  spite  of  their  training,  some  men  of 
birth  are  of  very  bad  style,  while  others  of  humbler  rank  have 
a  natural  good  taste  and  need  but  a  few  lessons  to  acquire  the 
best  manners  without  clumsy  imitation.  Take  the  word  of  a 
poor  woman  who  will  never  quit  her  valley — A  noble  tone,  a 
gracious  simplicity  stamped  on  speech,  action,  and  demeanor — 
nay,  even  on  the  details  of  a  house — constitute  a  sort  of  per- 
sonal poetry,  and  give  an  irresistible  charm ;  judge,  then,  of 
their  effect  when  they  come  from  the  heart. 

"  Politeness,  dear  child,  consists  in  forgetting  yourself  for 
others ;  with  many  people  it  is  no  more  than  a  company 
grimace  that  fails  as  soon  as  self-interest  is  rubbed  too  hard 
and  peeps  through ;  then  a  great  man  is  ignoble.  But  true 
politeness — and  on  this  I  insist  in  you,  Felix — implies  a 
Christian  grace ;  it  is  the  very  flower  of  charity,  and  consists 
in  really  forgetting  self.  In  memory  of  Henriette,  do  not  be 
a  fountain  without  water,  have  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  form. 
Do  not  be  afraid  of  finding  yourself  too  often  the  dupe  of 
this  social  virtue ;  sooner  or  later  you  will  gather  the  harvest 
of  so  much  seed  cast  apparently  to  the  winds. 

"  My  father  remarked,  long  ago,  that  one  of  the  most 
offensive  things  in  superficial  politeness  is  the  misuse  of  prom- 
ises. When  you  are  asked  to  do  something  that  is  out  of 
your  power,  refuse  point-blank  and  give  no  false  hopes.  On 


140  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

the  other  hand,  give  at  once  whatever  you  mean  to  grant ; 
you  will  thus  be  credited  with  the  grace  of  refusing  as  well  as 
the  grace  of  conferring  a  benefit — twofold  honesty  which 
really  elevates  the  character.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  do  not 
earn  more  ill-will  by  a  hope  deceived  than  good-will  by  a 
favor  bestowed. 

"  Above  all,  my  friend — for  such  little  things  are  all  within 
my  province,  and  I  may  emphasize  the  things  I  feel  that  I 
know — be  neither  confidential,  nor  commonplace,  nor  over- 
eager — three  rocks  ahead.  Too  much  confiding  in  others 
diminishes  their  respect,  the  commonplace  is  despised,  enthu- 
siasm makes  us  a  prey  to  adventurers.  In  the  first  place,  dear 
child,  do  not  have  more  than  two  or  three  friends  in  the  whole 
course  of  your  life,  and  your  confidence  is  their  right ;  if  you 
give  it  to  many,  you  betray  them  to  each  other.  If  you  find 
yourself  more  intimate  with  some  men  than  with  others,  be 
reserved  about  yourself,  as  reserved  as  though  they  some  day 
were  to  be  your  rivals,  your  opponents,  or  your  enemies ;  the 
chances  of  life  require  this.  Preserve  an  attitude  neither  cold 
nor  perfervid,  try  to  hit  the  medium  line,  on  which  a  man 
may  take  his  stand  without  compromising  himself.  Believe 
me,  a  man  of  heart  is  as  far  from  Philinte's  feeble  amiability 
as  from  Alceste's  harsh  austerity.  The  genius  of  the  comic 
poet  shines  in  the  suggestion  of  a  happy  medium  apprehended 
by  a  high-minded  spectator;  and  certainly  every  one  will 
have  a  leaning  to  the  absurdities  of  virtue  rather  than  to  the 
sovereign  contempt  that  hides  under  the  good-nature  of 
egoism,  but  they  will  probably  preserve  themselves  from 
either.  As  to  commonplace  civility,  though  it  may  make 
some  simpletons  pronounce  you  to  be  a  charming  man,  those 
who  are  accustomed  to  gauge  and  value  human  intellects  will 
estimate  your  capacity,  and  you  will  soon  be  neglected,  for 
the  commonplace  is  the  resource  of  all  weak  men.  Now, 
weak  men  are  looked  down  upon  by  a  world  which  regards  its 
several  members  merely  as  organs — and  perhaps  it  is  right : 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  141 

nature  crushes  out  every  ineffectual  creature.  Indeed,  the 
kindly  influence  of  women  is  perhaps  the  outcome  of  the 
pleasure  they  take  in  struggling  with  a  blind  power,  and 
asserting  the  triumph  of  the  heart's  perceptions  over  the 
brute  strength  of  matter.  But  society,  a  stepmother  rather 
than  a  mother,  adores  the  children  who  flatter  her  vanity. 

"As  for  zeal,  that  first  sublime  error  of  youth  which  finds 
real  enjoyment  in  expending  its  strength,  and  so  begins  by 
being  its  own  dupe  before  it  is  duped  by  others,  keep  it  for 
the  sentiments  you  share,  keep  it  for  woman  and  for  God. 
Never  offer  such  treasures  in  the  world's  mart,  nor  in  the 
speculations  of  politics;  they  will  only  give  you  paste  for 
them.  You  surely  must  believe  the  adviser  who  enjoins  noble 
conduct  on  you  in  every  particular,  when  she  implores  you 
not  to  waste  yourself  in  vain ;  for,  unfortunately,  men  will 
esteem  you  in  proportion  to  your  usefulness,  taking  no  ac- 
count of  your  real  worth.  To  use  a  figure  of  speech  which 
will  abide  in  your  poetic  mind:  A  cypher,  though  it  be  never 
so  large,  traced  in  gold  or  written  in  chalk,  will  never  be 
anything  but  a  cypher.  A  man  of  our  day  said — '  Never  show 
zeal ! '  Zeal  verges  on  trickery,  it  leads  to  misunderstandings ; 
you  would  never  find  a  fervor  to  match  your  own  in  any  one 
above  you ;  kings,  like  women,  think  that  everything  is  due 
to  them.  Sad  as  this  principle  may  seem,  it  is  true ;  but  it 
need  not  blight  the  soul.  Place  your  purest  feelings  in  some 
inaccessible  spot  where  their  flowers  may  be  passionately  ad- 
mired, where  the  artist  may  lovingly  dream  over  the  master- 
piece. 

"  Duties,  my  friend,  are  not  feelings.  To  do  what  you 
ought  is  not  to  do  what  you  please.  A  man  must  be  ready  to 
die  in  cold  blood  for  his  country,  but  may  give  his  life  for  a 
woman  with  joy. 

"One  of  the  most  important  rules  in  the  science  of  man- 
ners is  almost  absolute  silence  concerning  yourself.  Allow 
yourself,  for  the  amusement  of  it,  some  day  to  talk  about 


142  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

yourself  to  some  mere  acquaintances;  tell  them  of  your  ail- 
ments, your  pleasures,  or  your  business,  you  will  see  indiffer- 
ence supervene  on  affected  interest ;  then,  when  they  are 
utterly  bored,  if  the  mistress  of  the  house  does  not  politely 
check  you,  every  one  will  find  a  clever  excuse  to  withdraw. 
But  if  you  want  to  collect  about  you  every  man's  sympathies, 
to  be  regarded  as  an  agreeable  and  witty  man,  always  pleasant, 
talk  to  them  of  themselves,  find  an  opportunity  for  bringing 
them  to  the  front — even  by  asking  questions  apparently  irrele- 
vant to  the  individual.  Heads  will  bow,  lips  will  smile  at 
you,  and,  when  you  have  left,  every  one  will  sing  your  praises. 
Your  conscience  and  the  voice  of  your  heart  will  warn  you  of 
the  limit  where  the  cowardice  of  flattery  begins,  where  the 
grace  of  conversation  ends. 

"  One  word  more  about  talking  in  public.  My  friend, 
youth  is  always  inclined  to  a  certain  hastiness  of  judgment 
which  does  it  honor,  but  which  serves  it  ill.  Hence  the 
silence  which  used  to  be  impressed  on  the  young,  who  went 
through  an  apprenticeship  to  their  betters,  during  which  they 
studied  life ;  for,  of  old,  the  nobility  had  their  apprentices  as 
artists  had,  pages  attached  to  the  masters  who  maintained 
them.  In  these  days  young  people  have  a  sort  of  hot-house 
training,  sour  at  that,  which  leads  them  to  judge  severely  of 
actions,  thoughts,  and  books;  they  cut  rashly,  and  with  a 
new  knife.  Do  not  indulge  in  this  bad  habit.  Your  con- 
demnation would  be  such  censure  as  would  hurt  many  of  those 
about  you,  and  they  would  all  perhaps  be  less  ready  to  forgive 
a  secret  wound  than  an  offense  given  in  public.  Young  men 
are  not  indulgent,  because  they  do  not  know  life  and  its  diffi- 
culties. An  old  critic  is  kind  and  mild;  a  young  critic  is 
merciless,  for  he  knows  nothing ;  the  other  knows  all.  And 
then  there  is  at  the  back  of  every  human  action  a  labyrinth 
of  determining  causes,  of  which  God  has  reserved  to  Himself 
the  right  of  final  judgment.  Be  severe  only  to  yourself. 

"Your  fortune  lies  before  you,  but  nobody  in  this  world 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  143 

can  make  a  fortune  unaided.  My  father's  house  is  open  to 
you  ;  visit  there  frequently ;  the  connections  you  will  form 
there  will  be  of  use  to  you  in  a  thousand  ways.  But  do  not 
yield  an  inch  of  ground  to  my  mother ;  she  crushes  those  who 
bend,  but  admires  the  spirit  of  those  who  resist  her.  She  is 
like  iron  which,  when  hammered,  can  be  welded  with  iron, 
but  by  its  mere  contact  breaks  everything  less  hard  than  itself. 
But  cultivate  my  mother's  acquaintance  ;  if  she  likes  you,  she 
will  introduce  you  to  houses  where  you  will  pick  up  the  in- 
evitable knowledge  of  the  world,  the  art  of  listening,  speaking, 
replying,  coming  in,  and  going  away ;  the  tone  of  speech,  the 
indescribable  something,  which  is  not  superiority  any  more 
than  the  coat  is  genius,  but  without  which  the  greatest  talents 
are  never  acceptable.  I  know  you  well  enough  to  be  sure 
that  I  am  not  deluding  myself  when  I  picture  you  beforehand 
just  what  I  wish  you  to  be — simple  in  manner,  gentle  in  tone, 
proud  without  conceit,  deferent  to  old  people,  obliging  with- 
out servility,  and,  above  all,  discreet.  Use  your  wit,  but  not 
merely  to  amuse  your  company,  for  you  must  remember  that 
if  your  superiority  irritates  a  commonplace  man,  he  will  be 
silent ;  but  he  will  afterward  speak  of  you  as  '  most  amusing,' 
a  word  of  scorn.  Your  superiority  must  always  be  leonine. 
Indeed,  do  not  try  to  please  men.  In  your  intercourse  with 
them  I  would  recommend  a  coolness  verging  on  such  a  degree 
of  impertinence  as  cannot  offend  them  ;  every  man  respects 
those  who  look  down  on  him,  and  such  contempt  will  win 
you  the  favor  of  women  who  value  you  in  proportion  to  your 
indifference  to  men.  Never  be  familiar  with  persons  in  dis- 
credit, not  even  if  they  do  not  merit  their  reputation,  for  the 
world  exacts  an  account  alike  of  our  friendships  and  our  aver- 
sions ;  on  this  point  let  your  judgment  be  slowly  and  fully 
matured,  but  irrevocable. 

"  If  men  to  whom  you  will  have  nothing  to  say  justify  your 
aversion,  your  esteem  will  be  valued  ;  and  thus  you  will  in- 
spire that  unspoken  respect  which  raises  a  man  above  his  fel- 


144  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

lows.  Thus  you  will  be  armed  with  youth  to  attract,  grace 
to  charm,  and  prudence  to  preserve  your  conquests.  And  all 
I  have  said  may  be  summed  up  in  the  old  motto  'Noblesse 
oblige. ' 

"  Now  apply  these  principles  to  the  policy  of  business. 
You  will  hear  many  men  declare  that  craft  is  the  element  of 
success,  that  the  way  to  push  through  the  crowd  is  by  divid- 
ing it  to  make  room.  My  friend,  these  principles  held  good 
in  the  dark  ages,  when  princes  had  to  use  rival  forces  to  de- 
stroy each  other  ;  but  in  these  days  everything  is  open  to  the 
day  and  such  a  system  would  serve  you  very  ill.  You  will 
always  meet  men  face  to  face  ;  either  an  honest  gentleman  or 
a  treacherous  foe,  a  man  whose  weapons  are  calumny,  slander, 
and  dishonesty.  Well,  understand  that  against  him  you  have 
no  better  ally  than  himself ;  he  is  his  own  enemy ;  you  can 
fight  him  with  the  weapons  of  loyalty ;  sooner  or  later  he  will 
be  despised.  As  to  the  first,  your  own  frankness  will  conciliate 
his  esteem  ;  and  when  your  interests  are  reconciled — for  every- 
thing can  be  arranged — he  will  be  of  service  to  you.  Do  not 
be  afraid  of  making  enemies  ;  woe  to  him  who  has  none  in 
the  world  you  will  move  in  !  But  try  never  to  give  a  handle 
to  ridicule  or  discredit.  I  say  try,  for  in  Paris  a  man  is  not 
always  free  to  act ;  he  is  liable  to  inevitable  circumstances ; 
you  cannot  escape  mud  from  the  gutter,  nor  a  falling  tile. 
There  are  gutters  in  the  moral  world,  and  those  who  fall  try 
to  splash  nobler  men  with  the  mud  in  which  they  are  drown- 
ing. But  you  can  always  command  respect  by  showing  your- 
self invariably  relentless  in  your  final  decision. 

"  In  this  conflict  of  ambitions,  and  amid  these  tangled  diffi- 
culties, always  go  straight  to  the  point ;  resolutely  attack  the 
question,  and  never  fight  more  than  one  point  with  all  your 
strength.  You  know  how  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  hated  Na- 
poleon ;  he  persistently  cursed  him,  he  watched  him  as  the 
police  watch  a  criminal,  every  evening  he  called  out  on  him 
for  the  Due  d'Enghien's  death — the  only  disaster,  the  only 


THE  LILY  OF  THE   VALLEY.  145 

death  that  ever  wrung  tears  from  him ;  well,  he  admired  him 
as  the  boldest  of  leaders,  and  often  expatiated  on  his  tactics. 
Cannot  a  similar  strategy  be  applied  in  the  war  of  interests  ? 
It  would  economize  time,  as  Napoleon's  economized  men  and 
space.  Think  this  over,  for  a  woman  is  often  mistaken  about 
such  things,  judging  only  by  feeling  and  instinct. 

"  On  one  point  I  may  confidently  insist :  all  trickery  and 
craft  is  certain  to  be  detected,  and  does  harm  in  the  end, 
whereas  every  crisis  seems  to  me  less  perilous  when  a  man 
takes  his  stand  on  plain-dealing.  If  I  may  quote  myself  as 
an  example,  I  may  tell  you  that  at  Clochegourde,  forced  by 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's  temper  to  be  on  my  guard  against 
any  litigation,  and  to  have  every  question  settled  at  once  by 
arbitration,  lest  it  should  become  a  sort  of  illness  to  him 
which  he  would  enjoy  giving  himself  up  to,  I  have  always 
settled  matters  myself  by  going  straight  to  the  point  and 
saying  to  my  opponent,  '  Untie  the  knot  or  cut  it.' 

"You  will  often  find  yourself  of  use  to  others,  doing  them 
some  service,  and  getting  small  thanks ;  but  do  not  imitate 
those  who  complain,  and  declare  that  they  have  met  with 
nothing  but  ingratitude.  Is  not  that  putting  one's  self  on  a 
pedestal  ?  And  is  it  not  rather  silly  to  confess  one's  scant 
knowledge  of  the  world  ?  And  do  you  do  good  as  a  usurer 
lends  money  ?  Will  you  not  do  it  for  its  own  sake  ?  Noblesse 
oblige  !  At  the  same  time,  do  not  render  men  such  service 
as  compels  them  to  be  ungrateful,  for  then  they  will  become 
your  implacable  enemies ;  there  is  a  despair  of  obligation  as 
there  is  a  despair  of  ruin,  which  gives  incalculable  strength. 
On  the  other  hand,  accept  as  little  as  you  can.  Do  not 
become  the  vassal  of  any  living  soul;  depend  on  yourself 
alone. 

"  I  can  only  advise,  dear  friend,  as  to  the  minor  matters 

of  life.      In  the  political  world  everything  has  a  different 

aspect,  the  rules  that  guide  your  personal  conduct  must  bow 

to  higher  interests.     But  if  you  should  reach  the  sphere  in 

10 


146  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

which  great  men  have  their  being,  you,  like  God,  will  be  sole 
judge  of  your  decisions.  You  will  be  more  than  a  man,  you 
will  be  the  embodiment  of  the  law ;  you  will  be  more  than 
an  individual,  you  will  represent  the  nation  incarnate.  But 
though  you  will  judge,  you  will  also  be  judged.  In  later 
times  you  will  be  called  to  appear  before  the  Ages,  and 
you  know  history  well  enough  to  appreciate  what  the  feelings 
and  deeds  are  which  lead  to  true  greatness. 

"I  now  come  to  the  serious  point — your  conduct  to 
women.  In  the  drawing-rooms  where  you  will  visit  make 
it  a  law  to  yourself  never  to  squander  yourself  by  indulging 
in  the  trivialities  of  flirtation.  One  of  the  men  of  the  last 
century,  who  was  in  every  way  most  successful,  made  it  a 
practice  never  to  devote  himself  but  to  one  lady  in  an  even- 
ing, and  to  select  those  who  seemed  forlorn.  That  man,  my 
dear  boy,  was  supreme  in  his  day.  He  had  shrewdly  calcu- 
lated that  in  due  time  he  would  be  persistently  praised  by 
everybody.  Most  young  men  lose  their  most  precious  pos- 
session, the  time,  namely,  which  is  needful  for  making  the 
connections  which  are  half  of  social  life.  While  they  are 
intrinsically  attractive  they  would  have  little  to  do  to  attach 
others  to  their  interests ;  but  that  springtime  is  brief — make 
the  most  of  it.  Cultivate  the  society  of  influential  women. 
Influential  women  are  old  women ;  they  will  inform  you  as 
to  the  alliances  and  secrets  of  every  family,  and  show  you 
the  cross-roads  that  may  take  you  quickly  to  the  goal.  They 
will  be  really  fond  of  you ;  patronage  is  their  last  passion 
when  they  are  not  bigots ;  they  will  be  of  invaluable  service, 
they  will  speak  well  of  you,  and  make  other  people  want  to 
know  you. 

"  Avoid  young  women  !  Do  not  think  that  there  is  the 
least  personal  animus  in  this  advice.  The  woman  of  fifty 
will  do  everything  for  you ;  the  woman  of  twenty,  nothing ; 
she  will  demand  your  whole  life;  the  elder  woman  will  only 
ask  for  a  moment,  a  little  attention.  Jest  with  young  women, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  147 

take  them  very  lightly,  they  are  incapable  of  a  serious  thought. 
Young  women,  my  dear,  are  selfish,  petty,  incapable  of  true 
friendship;  they  only  love  themselves  and  would  sacrifice 
you  for  a  success.  Beside,  they  will  require  your  full  devo- 
tion, and  your  position  will  need  the  devotion  of  others — two 
irreconcilable  propositions.  No  young  woman  will  under- 
stand your  interests ;  they  will  always  be  thinking  of  them- 
selves, not  of  you,  and  do  you  more  harm  by  their  vanity 
than  good  by  their  attachment ;  they  will  unhesitatingly  ap- 
propriate your  time ;  they  will  mar  your  fortune  and  ruin 
you  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world.  If  you  complain,  the 
silliest  of  them  all  can  argue  that  her  glove  is  worth  the  uni- 
verse, that  nothing  can  be  more  glorious  than  her  service. 
They  will  all  tell  you  that  they  can  give  you  happiness  and 
so  make  you  forget  your  high  destiny.  The  happiness  they 
give  is  variable ;  your  future  greatness  is  certain. 

"You  do  not  know  with  what  perfidious  art  they  go  about 
to  gratify  their  caprices,  to  make  a  transient  liking  appear  as 
a  passion  begun  on  earth  to  be  eternal  in  heaven.  When  they 
throw  you  over,  they  will  tell  you  that  the  words,  '  I  love  you 
no  longer,'  justify  their  desertion,  as  the  words,  'I  love  you,' 
justified  their  love — love  that  is  irresponsible.  My  dear,  the 
doctrine  is  absurd.  Believe  me,  true  love  is  eternal,  infinite, 
always  the  same  ;  equable  and  pure  without  vehement  out- 
breaks ;  it  is  found  under  white  hairs  when  the  heart  is  still 
young.  Nothing  of  the  kind  is  to  be  found  in  women  of 
fashion  ;  they  only  act  their  part. 

"This  one  will  interest  you  by  her  sorrows,  and  seem  the 
sweetest  and  least  exacting  of  her  sex ;  but  when  she  has  made 
herself  necessary  she  will  gradually  domineer  over  you  and 
make  you  do  her  bidding ;  you  will  wish  to  be  a  diplomatist, 
to  go  and  come,  to  study  men,  interests,  and  foreign  lands. 
No,  you  must  stay  in  Paris  or  at  her  country-house,  she  will 
ingeniously  tie  you  to  her  apron-string,  and  the  more  devoted 
you  are  the  less  grateful  will  she  be.  That  one  will  try  to 


148  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

engage  you  by  her  submissiveness ;  she  would  be  your  page 
and  follow  you  romantically  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ;  she 
would  compromise  herself  for  your  sake — and  hang  like  a 
stone  around  your  neck.  Thus  one  day  you  will  be  drowned, 
but  she  will  come  to  the  top. 

"The  least  crafty  of  their  sex  have  endless  snares;  the 
stupidest  triumph  by  exciting  no  suspicions ;  the  least  dan- 
gerous of  them  all  would  be  an  audacious  flirt  who  would  fall 
in  love  with  you,  hardly  knowing  why,  who  would  desert  you 
without  reason  and  take  you  up  again  out  of  vanity.  But 
they  will  all  do  you  a  mischief  sooner  or  later.  Every 
young  woman  who  goes  into  the  world  and  lives  on  pleasure 
and  the  triumphs  of  vanity  is  half-corrupt  and  will  corrupt 
you. 

"That  is  not  the  chaste,  meditative  being  in  whose  heart 
you  may  reign  for  ever.  Nay,  the  woman  who  loves  you  will 
dwell  in  solitude,  her  highest  festivals  will  be  your  looks,  and 
she  will  feed  on  your  words.  Then  let  that  woman  be  all  the 
world  to  you,  for  you  are  all  in  all  to  her ;  love  her  truly,  give 
her  no  pain,  no  rival,  do  not  torture  her  jealousy.  To  be 
loved,  my  dear,  and  understood  is  the  highest  happiness — I 
only  wish  that  you  may  know  it ;  but  do  not  compromise  the 
first  bloom  of  your  soul ;  be  very  sure  of  the  heart  to  which 
you  give  your  affections.  That  woman  must  never  be  herself, 
never  think  of  herself,  but  of  you  alone ;  she  will  never  con- 
tradict you,  she  will  not  listen  to  her  own  interests ;  she  will 
scent  danger  for  you  when  you  do  not  suspect  it  and  forget 
her  own ;  if  she  suffers,  she  will  endure  without  complaining; 
she  will  have  no  personal  vanity,  but  she  will  respect  what  you 
love  in  her.  Return  such  love  with  even  greater  love.  Love 
begets  love. 

"  And  if  you  should  be  so  happy  as  to  find,  what  your  poor 
friend  here  can  never  have,  an  affection  equally  inspired  and 
equally  felt,  however  perfect  that  love  may  be,  remember  still 
that  in  a  valley  there  lives  for  you  a  mother  whose  heart  is  so 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  149 

deeply  minded  by  the  feeling  with  which  you  fill  it  that  you 
can  never  reach  the  bottom  of  it. 

"  Yes,  you  can  never  know  the  extent  of  the  affection  I  bear 
you  :  for  it  to  show  its  full  extent  you  would  have  had  to  be 
bereft  of  your  noble  intellect ;  you  cannot  think  how  far  my 
devotion  would  have  carried  me  then.  Do  you  doubt  me 
when  I  bid  you  avoid  young  women,  who  are  all  more  or  less 
superficial,  sarcastic,  vain,  frivolous,  and  wasteful,  and  attach 
yourself  to  important  dowagers,  full  of  sense,  as  my  aunt  was, 
who  will  do  you  good  service,  who  will  defend  you  against 
secret  calumny  by  quashing  it,  who  will  speak  of  you  in  terms 
you  cannot  use  in  speaking  of  yourself?  After  all,  am  I  not 
generous  when  I  bid  you  reserve  your  worship  for  the  pure- 
hearted  angel  to  come  ?  If  the  words  Noblesse  oblige  include 
a  great  part  of  my  first  injunctions,  my  advice  as  to  your  deal- 
ings with  women  may  also  be  summed  up  in  this  chivalrous 
motto,  'Les  servir  toutes,  ri en  aimer  qu'unc*  (Serve  all,  love 
but  one). 

"  Your  learning  is  vast ;  your  heart,  preserved  by  suffering, 
is  still  unspotted,  all  is  fair  and  good  in  you :  then  WILL  ! 
Your  whole  future  lies  in  this  one  word,  the  watchword  of 
great  men.  You  will  obey  your  Henriette,  my  child,  will  you 
not,  and  allow  her  still  to  tell  you  what  she  thinks  of  you  and 
your  doings  in  the  world  ?  I  have  a  *  mind's  eye '  which  can 
foresee  the  future  for  you,  as  for  my  children ;  then  let  me 
make  use  of  the  faculty  for  your  benefit ;  it  is  a  mysterious 
gift  which  has  brought  peace  into  my  life;  and  which,  far 
from  waning,  grows  stronger  in  solitude  and  silence. 

"  In  return,  I  ask  you  to  give  me  a  great  joy ;  I  want  to  see 
you  growing  great  among  men  without  having  to  frown  over 
one  of  your  successes ;  I  want  you  very  soon  to  raise  your 
fortune  to  a  level  with  your  name,  and  to  be  able  to  tell  me 
that  I  have  contributed  something  more  than  a  wish  to  your 
advancement.  This  secret  cooperation  is  the  only  pleasure  I 
can  allow  myself.  I  can  waitt 


150  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"  I  do  not  say  farewell.  We  are  divided,  you  cannot  press 
my  hand  to  your  lips ;  but  you  must  surely  have  understood 
the  place  you  fill  in  the  heart  of  your 

"  HENRIETTE." 

As  I  finished  reading  this  letter,  I  seemed  to  feel  a  motherly 
heart  throbbing  beneath  my  fingers  at  the  moment  when  I  was 
still  frozen  by  my  mother's  stern  reception.  I  could  guess 
why  the  Countess  had  forbidden  me  to  read  this  letter  so  long 
as  I  was  in  Touraine;  she  had  feared,  no  doubt,  to  see  me 
fall  with  my  head  at  her  feet  and  to  feel  them  wetted  by  my 
tears. 

At  last  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  my  brother  Charles,  who 
had  hitherto  been  a  stranger  to  me  ;  but  he  showed  such  arro- 
gance in  our  most  trifling  intercourse  as  held  us  too  far  apart 
for  us  to  care  for  each  other  as  brothers.  All  kindly  feeling 
is  based  on  equality  of  mind  and  there  was  no  point  of  con- 
tact between  us.  He  lectured  me  solemnly  on  various  trivial 
details  which  the  mind  or  the  heart  knows  by  instinct ;  he 
always  seemed  distrustful  of  me ;  if  my  love  had  not  been  to 
me  as  a  corner-stone,  he  might  have  made  me  awkward  and 
stupid  by  seeming  to  think  that  I  knew  nothing.  He,  never- 
theless, introduced  me  into  society,  where  my  rusticity  was  to 
be  a  foil  to  his  accomplishment.  But  for  the  woes  of  my 
childhood,  I  might  have  taken  his  patronizing  vanity  for 
brotherly  affection  ;  but  mental  isolation  produces  the  same 
effects  as  earthly  solitude  :  the  silence  allows  us  to  discern  the 
faintest  echo,  and  the  habit  of  relying  on  one's  self  develops 
a  sensitiveness  so  delicate  that  it  vibrates  to  the  lightest  touch 
of  the  affections  that  concern  us. 

Before  knowing  Madame  de  Mortsauf  a  stern  look  hurt  me, 
the  tone  of  a  rough  word  went  to  my  heart ;  I  groaned  over 
it,  though  I  knew  nothing  of  the  gentler  life  of  caresses. 
Whereas,  on  my  return  from  Clochegourde,  I  could  draw 
comparisons  which  gave  completeness  to  my  premature  knowl- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  151 

edge.  Observation  based  on  mere  suffering  is  incomplete. 
Happiness,  has  its  lights  too.  But  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
crushed  under  Charles'  superiority  as  my  elder,  all  the  more 
readily  because  I  was  not  his  dupe. 

I  went  alone  to  the  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt's  house  and 
heard  no  mention  made  of  Henriette ;  no  one  but  the  good 
old  Duke,  who  was  simplicity  itself,  ever  spoke  of  her;  but, 
from  the  reception  he  gave  me,  I  guessed  that  his  daughter 
had  secretly  recommended  me. 

Hardly  had  I  begun  to  get  over  the  loutish  surprise  which 
a  first  sight  of  the  great  world  produces  in  every  tyro,  when, 
just  as  I  was  getting  a  glimpse  of  the  resources  it  has  for 
ambitious  men,  and  thinking  of  the  joy  of  practicing  Hen- 
riette's  axioms,  while  recognizing  their  entire  truth,  the  events 
of  the  twentieth  of  March  supervened.  My  brother  accom- 
panied the  court  to  Ghent,  and  I,  by  the  Countess'  advice — 
for  I  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  her,  frequent  on  my  side 
only — I  also  went  thither  with  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt.  His 
habitual  benevolence  became  a  sincere  desire  to  help  me  when 
he  found  that  I  was  devoted  head,  heart,  and  hands  to  the 
Bourbons ;  he  presented  me  to  his  majesty. 

The  courtiers  of  disaster  are  few.  Youth  has  artless  enthu- 
siasms and  disinterested  fidelity ;  the  King  was  a  judge  of  men ; 
what  would  have  passed  unnoticed  at  the  Tuileries  were  con- 
spicuous at  Ghent,  and  I  was  so  happy  as  to  find  favor  with 
Louis  XVIII. 

A  letter  from  Madame  de  Mortsauf  to  her  father,  brought 
with  some  dispatches  by  an  emissary  of  the  Vendeens,  con- 
tained a  scrap  for  me,  informing  me  that  Jacques  was  ill. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  in  despair  alike  at  his  son's  frail  health, 
and  at  a  second  emigration  of  the  sovereign,  in  which  he  had 
no  part,  had  added  a  few  lines  that  enabled  me  to  imagine  my 
dear  lady's  situation.  Fretted  by  him,  no  doubt,  for  spend- 
ing all  her  time  by  Jacques'  bedside,  getting  no  rest  day  or 
night,  scorning  such  vexations  but  incapable  of  controlling 


152  THE  LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

herself  when  she  was  expending  herself  wholly  in  nursing  her 
child,  Henriette  must  be  needing  the  support  of  a  friendship 
that  had  made  life  less  burdensome  to  her,  if  it  were  only  by 
amusing  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf.  Several  times  already  I  had 
had  the  Count  out  for  a  walk  when  he  was  threatening  to 
worry  her — an  innocent  trick  of  which  the  success  had  earned 
me  some  of  those  looks  expressing  passionate  gratitude,  and 
in  which  love  reads  a  promise.  Though  I  was  eager  to  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  my  brother  Charles,  recently  sent  to  the 
congress  at  Vienna;  though,  at  the  risk  of  my  life  even,  I 
longed  to  justify  Henriette's  predictions  and  free  myself  from 
being  his  vassal,  my  ambition,  my  desire  for  independence, 
my  interests,  which  bid  me  remain  with  the  King,  all  paled 
before  Madame  de  Mortsauf  s  heart-stricken  image.  I  decided 
on  leaving  the  court  at  Ghent,  and  on  going  to  serve  my  true 
sovereign. 

God  rewarded  me.  The  messenger  sent  out  by  the  Ven- 
d6ens  could  not  return  to  France ;  the  King  wanted  a  man 
who  would  devote  himself  to  be  the  bearer  of  his  instructions. 
The  Due  de  Lenoncourt  knew  that  his  majesty  would  not 
overlook  the  man  who  should  undertake  this  perilous  task ; 
without  consulting  me,  he  obtained  it  for  me,  and  I  accepted 
it,  only  too  glad  to  be  able  to  return  to  Clochegourde  while 
serving  the  good  cause. 

Thus,  after  having  an  audience  of  the  King,  at  one-and- 
twenty,  I  returned  to  France,  where,  either  in  Paris  or  in  la 
Vendee,  I  was  to  be  so  happy  as  to  do  his  majesty's  bidding. 
By  the  end  of  May,  being  the  object  of  pursuit  to  the  Bona- 
partists  who  were  on  my  track,  I  was  obliged  to  fly;  affecting 
to  make  my  way  homeward,  I  went  on  foot  from  place  to 
place,  from  wood  to  wood,  across  Upper  Vendee,  the  Bocage, 
and  Poitou,  changing  my  route  as  circumstances  required. 

I  thus  reached  Saumur ;  from  Saumur  I  went  to  Chinon, 
and  from  Chinon,  in  a  single  night,  I  arrived  in  the  woods  of 
Neuil,  where  J  met  the  Count,  on  horseback,  on  a  common ; 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  153 

he  took  me  up  behind  him  and  carried  me  home,  without 
our  meeting  a  soul  who  could  recognize  me. 

"  Jacques  is  better,"  was  his  first  speech. 

I  explained  to  him  my  position  as  a  diplomatic  infantry- 
man, hunted  like  a  wild  animal,  and  the  gentleman  rose  up 
in  him,  in  arms  to  dispute  with  Chessel  the  risk  of  harboring 
me. 

When  I  saw  Clochegourde  I  felt  as  if  the  past  eight  months 
were  but  a  dream.  The  Count  said  to  his  wife  as  we  entered, 
"  Guess  who  is  come  with  me  !  Felix." 

"  Is  it  possible?"  she  asked,  her  arms  hanging  limp,  and 
looking  quite  amazed. 

I  came  in ;  we  stood,  both  immovable,  she  riveted  to  her 
seat,  I  on  the  threshold,  gazing  at  each  other  with  the  fixed 
avidity  of  two  lovers  who  want  to  make  up  in  one  look  for 
lost  time.  But  she,  ashamed  of  her  surprise,  which  laid  her 
heart  bare,  arose,  and  I  went  forward. 

"  I  have  prayed  much  for  you,"  said  she,  holding  out  her 
hand  for  me  to  kiss. 

She  asked  for  news  of  her  father ;  then,  understanding  my 
fatigue,  she  went  to  arrange  a  room  for  me,  while  the  Count 
had  some  food  brought,  for  I  was  dying  of  hunger.  My  room 
was  over  hers,  that  which  had  been  her  aunt's ;  she  left  me 
to  be  taken  to  it  by  the  Count,  after  setting  foot  on  the 
bottom  step  of  the  stairs,  considering  no  doubt  whether  she 
should  show  me  the  way  herself;  I  turned  around,  she  colored, 
wished  me  a  sound  nap,  and  hastily  withdrew.  When  I  came 
down  to  dinner  I  heard  of  the  defeat  at  Waterloo,  of  Napo- 
leon's flight,  the  march  of  the  allies  on  Paris  and  the  prob- 
able return  of  the  Bourbons.  To  the  Count  these  events 
were  everything  ;  to  us  they  were  nothing. 

Do  you  know  what  the  greatest  news  was  after  I  had 
greeted  the  children,  for  I  will  say  nothing  of  my  alarm  on 
seeing  how  pale  and  thin  the  Countess  was  ?  I  knew  the  dis- 
may I  might  produce  by  a  gesture  of  surprise,  and  expressed. 


154  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

nothing  but  pleasure  at  seeing  her.  The  great  news  for  us 
was,  "You  will  have  some  ice." 

She  had  often  been  annoyed  last  year  because  she  had  no 
water  cold  enough  for  me  ;  for,  drinking  nothing  else,  I  liked 
it  iced.  God  knows  what  it  had  cost  her  in  importunities  to 
have  an  ice-house  built.  You,  better  than  any  one,  know 
that  love  is  satisfied  with  a  word,  a  look,  a  tone  of  voice, 
an  attention  apparently  most  trifling ;  its  highest  privilege  is 
to  be  its  own  evidence.  Well,  this  word,  with  her  look  and 
her  pleasure,  revealed  to  me  the  extent  of  her  sentiments,  as 
I  had  formerly  shown  her  mine  by  my  conduct  over  the 
backgammon. 

But  there  was  no  end  to  the  artless  proofs  of  her  tenderness. 
By  the  seventh  day  after  my  arrival  she  was  quite  herself 
again  ;  she  was  sparkling  with  health,  glee,  and  youth  ;  I 
found  my  beloved  lily  more  beautiful,  more  fully  developed, 
just  as  I  found  all  my  heart's  treasures  increased.  Is  it  not  a 
narrow  soul  only,  or  a  vulgar  heart,  which  finds  that  absence 
diminishes  feeling,  effaces  the  impression  of  the  soul,  and 
deteriorates  the  beauty  of  the  person  beloved  ?  To  an  ardent 
imagination,  to  those  beings  in  whom  enthusiasm  flows  in 
their  blood,  dying  it  with  a  fresher  purple,  and  in  whom  pas- 
sion takes  on  the  form  of  constancy,  has  not  absence  such  an 
effect  as  the  torments  which  fortified  the  faith  of  early  Chris- 
tians and  made  God  visible  to  them  ?  Are  there  not,  in  a 
heart  full  of  love,  certain  undying  hopes  which  give  a  higher 
value  to  the  image  we  desire  by  showing  it  in  glimpses  tinged 
by  the  glow  of  dreams?  Can  we  not  feel  such  promptings  as 
lend  the  beauty  of  an  ideal  to  those  adored  features  by  in- 
forming them  with  thought?  The  past,  remembered  bit  by 
bit,  is  magnified  ;  the  future  is  furnished  with  hopes.  Be- 
tween two  hearts  overcharged  with  such  electric  tension,  the 
first  interview  is  then  like  a  beneficent  storm  which  revives 
the  earth  and  fertilizes  it,  while  shedding  on  it  the  flashing 
gleams  of  the  lightning.  How  much  exquisite  pleasure  I 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  155 

tasted  in  finding  that  in  us  these  thoughts,  these  experiences 
were  reciprocal !  With  what  rapture  did  I  watch  the  growth 
of  happiness  in  Henriette  ! 

A  woman  who  resuscitates  under  the  eyes  of  the  man  she 
loves  gives  a  greater  proof  of  feeling  perhaps  than  one  who 
dies,  killed  by  a  suspicion,  or  withered  on  the  stem  for  lack 
of  nutrition.  Which  of  the  two  is  the  more  pathetic  I  can- 
not tell.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  s  revival  was  as  natural  as  the 
effect  of  the  month  of  May  on  the  meadows,  or  of  sunshine 
and  shower  on  drooping  plants.  Like  our  vale  of  love,  Hen- 
riette had  gone  through  her  winter;  like  it,  she  was  born 
anew  with  the  spring. 

Before  dinner  we  went  down  to  our  beloved  terrace. 
There,  as  she  stroked  the  head  of  her  poor  child,  weaker  now 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him,  while  he  walked  by  her  side  in 
silence  as  though  he  were  sickening  for  some  disease,  she  told 
me  of  the  nights  she  had  spent  by  his  sick-bed.  For  those 
three  months,  she  said,  she  had  lived  exclusively  in  herself; 
she  had  dwelt,  as  it  were,  in  a  gloomy  palace,  dreading  to 
enter  the  rooms  where  lights  were  blazing,  where  banquets 
were  given  that  were  forbidden  to  her ;  she  had  stood  at  the 
open  door  with  one  eye  on  her  child  and  the  other  on  a 
vague  face,  with  one  ear  listening  to  sorrow  and  the  other 
hearing  a  voice.  She  spoke  in  poems,  suggested  by  solitude, 
such  as  no  poet  has  ever  written  ;  and  all  quite  simply,  with- 
out knowing  that  there  might  be  the  slightest  trace  of  love  or 
taint  of  voluptuous  thought,  or  of  Oriental  sweetness  like  a 
rose  of  Frangistan.  When  the  Count  joined  us  she  went  on 
in  the  same  tone,  as  a  wife  proud  of  herself,  who  can  look 
her  husband  boldly  in  the  face  and  kiss  her  son's  brow  with- 
out a  blush. 

She  had  prayed  much,  holding  her  clasped  hands  over 
Jacques  for  whole  nights,  willing  that  he  should  not  die. 

"  I  went  up  to  the  gates  of  the  sanctuary,"  she  said,  "to 
ask  his  life  of  God." 


156  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

And  she  had  seen  visions ;  she  repeated  them  to  me ;  but 
when  she  presently  said  in  her  angel's  voice  these  wonderful 
words,  "When  I  slept,  my  heart  kept  watch!  "  "That  is 
to  say,  you  were  almost  crazy,"  said  the  Count,  interrupting 
her. 

She  was  silenced,  as  if  this  was  the  first  blow  she  had  ever 
had,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  that  for  thirteen  years  this  man 
had  never  failed  to  aim  an  arrow  at  her  heart.  Like  a  glori- 
ous bird,  she  was  stayed  in  her  flight  by  this  clumsy  bullet ; 
she  fell  into  a  mood  of  dull  dejection. 

"  Dear  me,  monsieur,"  said  she,  after  a  pause,  "  will  noth- 
ing I  say  ever  find  favor  before  the  bar  of  your  wit  ?  Will  you 
never  have  pity  on  my  weakness,  nor  any  sympathy  with  my 
womanly  fancies  ? ' ' 

She  paused.  This  angel  already  repented  of  having  mur- 
mured, and  sounded  the  past  and  the  future  alike  at  a  glance. 
Could  she  be  understood,  had  she  not  provoked  some  virulent 
retort  ?  The  blue  veins  throbbed  strongly  in  her  temples ; 
she  shed  no  tears,  but  her  green  eyes  lost  their  color ;  then  she 
looked  down  to  the  ground  to  avoid  seeing  in  mine  the  exag- 
geration of  her  suffering,  her  own  feelings  guessed  by  me,  her 
soul  cherished  in  mine,  and,  above  all,  the  sympathy,  crim- 
soned by  young  love,  that  was  ready,  like  a  faithful  dog,  to 
fly  at  any  one  who  should  offend  his  mistress  without  measur- 
ing the  force  or  the  dignity  of  the  foe.  At  such  a  moment 
the  airs  of  superiority  assumed  by  the  Count  were  a  thing  to 
see  ;  he  fancied  he  had  triumphed  over  his  wife  and  battered 
her  with  a  hailstorm  of  words,  reiterating  the  same  idea  again 
and  again,  like  the  blows  of  an  axe  repeating  the  same  sound. 

"So  he  is  the  same  as  ever?"  I  asked  when  the  Count 
left  us,  called  away  by  the  stableman  who  came  to  fetch  him. 

"  Always!  "  replied  Jacques. 

"Always  most  kind,  my  boy,"  said  she  to  Jacques,  trying 
to  screen  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  from  the  criticism  of  his 
children.  "  You  see  the  present,  you  know  nothing  of  the 


THE    LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  157 

past ;  you  cannot  judge  of  your  father  without  some  injustice ; 
and  even  if  you  were  so  unhappy  as  to  see  your  father  in  the 
wrong,  the  honor  of  the  family  would  require  you  to  bury 
such  secrets  in  the  deepest  silence." 

"  How  are  the  improvements  going  on  at  la  Cassine  and  la 
Rhetoriere?"  I  inquired,  to  turn  her  mind  from  these  bitter 
reflections. 

"Beyond  my  hopes,"  she  replied.  "The  buildings  being 
finished,  we  found  two  capital  farmers  who  took  one  at  a  rental 
of  four  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  we  paying  the  taxes, 
and  the  other  at  five  thousand  ;  the  leases  for  fifteen  years. 
We  have  already  planted  three  thousand  young  trees  on  the 
two  new  farms.  Manette's  cousin  is  delighted  with  la  Rabe- 
laye  ;  Martineau  has  la  Baude.  The  return  on  the  four  farms 
is  chiefly  in  hay  and  wood,  and  they  do  not  fatten  the  soil, 
as  some  dishonest  farmers  do,  with  the  manure  intended  for 
the  arable  land.  So  our  efforts  are  crowned  with  complete 
success.  Clochegourde,  apart  from  what  we  call  the  home 
farm,  from  our  woods  and  the  vineyards,  brings  in  nineteen 
thousand  francs,  and  the  plantations  will  in  time  yield  us  an 
annuity.  I  am  struggling  now  to  get  the  home  farm  placed 
in  the  hands  of  our  keeper,  Martineau,  whose  place  could  be 
filled  by  his  son.  He  offers  a  rental  of  three  thousand  francs 
if  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  will  only  build  him  a  house  at  la 
Commanderie.  We  could  then  clear  the  approach  to  Cloche- 
gourde,  finish  the  proposed  avenue  to  the  Chinon  road,  and 
have  nothing  in  our  own  hands  but  the  wood  and  the  vine- 
yards. If  the  King  returns,  we  shall  have  our  pension  again, 
and  we  shall  accept  it  after  a  few  days'  contest  with  our  wife's 
common  sense !  Thus  Jacques'  fortune  will  be  perfectly  se- 
cure. When  we  have  achieved  this  result  I  shall  leave  it  to 
monsieur  to  save  for  Madeleine,  and  the  King  will  endow  her, 
too,  as  is  customary.  My  conscience  is  at  peace,  my  task  is 
nearly  done.  And  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  explained   my  mission   and  showed  her  how  wise  and 


158  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

fruitful  her  advice  had  been.  Had  she  been  gifted  with  sec- 
ond sight  to  see  events  so  accurately  ? 

"  Did  I  not  say  so  in  my  letter?  "  replied  she.  "  But  it  is 
only  for  you  that  I  can  exercise  that  strange  faculty,  of  which 
I  have  spoken  to  no  one  but  Monsieur  de  la  Berge,  my  di- 
rector ;  he  explains  it  by  divine  intervention.  Often,  after 
any  deep  meditation  to  which  my  fears  for  the  children  have 
given  rise,  my  eyes  used  to  close  to  the  things  of  this  world 
and  awake  to  another  realm.  When  I  saw  Jacques  and  Made- 
leine as  luminous  figures,  they  were  well  for  some  little  time  ; 
when  I  saw  them  wrapped  in  mist,  they  soon  after  fell  ill.  As 
for  you,  not  only  do  I  always  see  you  radiant,  but  I  hear  a 
soft  voice  telling  me  what  you  ought  to  do — without  words, 
by  spiritual  communication.  By  what  law  is  it  that  I  can  use 
this  marvelous  faculty  only  for  my  children's  behoof  and 
yours?"  she  went  on,  becoming  thoughtful.  "Is  it  that 
God  means  to  be  a  father  to  them  ?  "  she  added,  after  a  pause. 

"Allow  me  to  believe  that  I  obey  you  alone,"  I  earnestly 
answered. 

She  gave  me  one  of  those  whole-hearted,  gracious  smiles 
which  so  intoxicated  my  soul  that  I  should  not  in  such  a 
moment  have  felt  a  death-blow. 

"As  soon  as  the  King  reaches  Paris,  go  there,  leave  Cloche- 
gourde,"  she  said.  "  Degrading  as  it  is  to  sue  for  place  and 
favor,  it  is,  on  the  other  hand,  ridiculous  not  to  be  at  hand  to 
accept  them.  There  will  be  great  changes.  The  King  will 
need  capable  and  trustworthy  men  ;  do  not  fail  him.  You  will 
find  yourself  in  office  while  still  young,  and  you  will  benefit 
by  it ;  for  statesmen,  as  for  actors,  there  is  a  certain  routine  of 
business  which  no  genius  can  divine ;  it  must  be  taught.  My 
father  learned  that  from  the  Due  de  Choiseul.  Think  of  me," 
she  added,  after  a  pause;  "let  me  enjoy  the  pleasures  of 
superiority  in  a  soul  that  is  all  my  own.  Are  you  not  my 
son?  " 

"  Your  son  ?  "  I  said  sullenly. 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  159 

"Nothing  but  my  son,"  said  she,  mimicking  me.  "And 
is  not  that  a  good  enough  place  to  hold  in  my  heart  ?  " 

The  bell  rang  for  dinner,  she  took  my  arm,  leaning  on  it 
with  evident  pleasure. 

"You  have  grown,"  she  said,  as  we  went  up  the  steps. 
When  we  reached  the  top  she  shook  my  arm  as  if  my  fixed 
gaze  held  her  too  eagerly ;  though  her  eyes  were  downcast 
she  knew  full  well  that  I  looked  at  her  alone,  and  she  said  in 
her  tone  of  affected  impatience,  so  gracious  and  so  insinu- 
ating— 

"  Come,  let  us  look  at  our  favorite  valley." 

She  turned,  holding  her  white  silk  parasol  over  our  heads, 
and  clasping  Jacques  closely  to  her  side ;  the  movement  of  her 
head,  by  which  she  directed  my  attention  to  the  Indre,  to  the 
punt,  and  the  fields,  showed  me  that  since  my  visit  and  our 
walks  together  she  had  made  herself  familiar  with  those  misty 
distances  and  hazy  curves.  Nature  was  the  cloak  that  had 
sheltered  her  thoughts ;  she  knew  now  what  the  nightingale 
sobs  over  at  night,  and  what  the  marsh-bird  repeats  in  its 
plaintive,  droning  note. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  I  was  present  at  a  scene 
which  touched  me  deeply,  and  which  I  had  never  before  wit- 
nessed, because  I  had  always  remained  to  play  with  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  while  she  went  into  the  dining-room  before  put- 
ting the  children  to  bed.  A  bell  rang  twice  and  all  the  house- 
servants  appeared. 

"  You  are  our  guest;  will  you  submit  to  convent  rule?" 
she  asked,  leading  me  away  by  the  hand  with  the  look  of  inno- 
cent gaiety  that  is  characteristic  of  all  truly  pious  women. 

The  Count  followed  us.  Masters,  children,  and  servants, 
all  knelt  bareheaded  in  their  accustomed  places.  It  was 
Madeleine's  turn  to  say  prayers ;  the  dear  child  did  it  in  her 
thin,  young  voice,  its  artless  tones  clearly  audible  in  the  har- 
monious country  silence,  and  giving  each  phrase  the  holy 
purity  of  innocence,  that  angelic  grace.  It  was  the  most 


160  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

touching  prayer  I  ever  heard.  Nature  whispered  a  response 
to  the  child's  words  in  the  myriad  low  rustlings  of  the  evening 
hour,  an  accompaniment  as  of  an  organ  softly  played  at  the 
time  of  vespers. 

Madeleine  was  on  her  mother's  right  hand,  Jacques  on  the 
left.  The  pretty  curly  heads,  and,  rising  between  them,  the 
mother's  plaits  of  hair;  above  them,  again,  Monsieur  de  Mort- 
sauf  s  perfectly  white  hair  and  ivory  yellow  skull,  formed  a 
picture  of  which  the  coloring  seemed  to  repeat  to  the  mind 
the  idea  suggested  by  the  melody  of  prayer ;  and  to  fulfill  the 
conditions  of  unity  which  stamp  the  sublime,  the  devout  little 
assembly  was  wrapped  in  the  subdued  light  of  sunset,  while 
the  room  was  touched  with  the  red  beams.  The  poetical  or 
the  superstitious  soul  could  thus  imagine  that  the  fires  of 
heaven  were  shed  on  the  faithful  worshipers  kneeling  there 
before  God  without  distinction  of  rank,  all  equals,  as  the 
church  requires.  My  thoughts  reverted  to  patriarchal  times, 
and  my  fancy  gave  added  dignity  to  the  scene,  itself  so  grand 
in  its  simplicity.  The  children  bade  their  father  good-night, 
the  servants  bowed,  the  Countess  went  away,  each  child 
holding  a  hand,  and  I  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  with 
the  Count. 

"You  will  have  found  salvation  there  and  perdition  here," 
said  he,  pointing  to  the  backgammon  board. 

The  Countess  joined  us  in  about  half  an  hour,  and  brought 
her  work-frame  to  the  table. 

"This  is  for  you,"  said  she,  unrolling  the  canvas ;  "but 
the  work  has  hung  fire  these  three  months  past.  Between 
that  red  carnation  and  that  rose,  my  poor  boy  was  very 
ill." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf ;  "do  not  talk 
about  it.  Size-cinq,  master  king's  messenger." 

When  I  went  to  my  room,  I  sat  motionless  to  hear  her 
moving  about  below.  Though  she  was  calm  and  pure,  I  was 
tormented  by  crazy  ideas  and  intolerable  cravings. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  161 

"Why  could  she  not  be  mine?"  thought  I.  "Perhaps 
she,  like  me,  is  tossed  on  the  whirlwind  of  the  senses?  " 

At  one  o'clock  I  crept  down  the  stairs,  treading  without  a 
sound,  and  outside  her  door  I  lay  down  ;  with  my  ear  to  the 
crack  I  heard  her  soft  and  even  breathing,  like  a  child's. 
When  I  was  quite  chilled  I  went  up  again  and  to  bed,  where 
I  slept  quietly  till  morning. 

To  what  predestination,  to  what  taint  of  nature  can  I 
ascribe  the  pleasure  I  find  in  going  to  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
in  sounding  the  abyss  of  evil,  in  peering  into  its  depths, 
shuddering  at  the  chill,  and  drawing  back  in  anguish.  That 
hour  at  night  spent  on  the  threshold  of  her  door,  where  I 
wept  with  frenzy,  without  her  ever  knowing  on  the  morrow 
that  she  had  trodden  on  my  tears  and  my  kisses — wept  over 
her  virtue,  ruined  and  respected  by  turns,  cursed  and  then 
worshiped — that  hour,  a  madness  in  the  eyes  of  many  persons, 
was  an  inspiration  of  the  same  nameless  feeling  that  carries 
on  a  soldier.  Men  have  told  me  that  in  such  a  mood  they 
have  risked  their  life,  rushing  in  front  of  a  battery,  to  see 
whether  they  would  escape  the  grapeshot,  and  whether  they 
would  not  enjoy  thus  trying  to  leap  the  gulf  of  probabilities, 
like  Jean  Bart  smoking  while  he  sat  on  a  powder  barrel. 

On  the  following  day  I  went  out  and  gathered  two  nose- 
gays; the  Count  admired  them — the  Count,  who  cared  for 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  for  whom  Champenetz's  jest  seemed 
to  have  been  invented :  "  He  builds  dungeons  in  the  air !  " 

I  spent  several  days  at  Clochegourde,  paying  short  calls 
only  at  Frapesle,  where  I  dined,  however,  three  times.  The 
French  army  took  up  its  quarters  at  Tours.  Though  I  was 
evidently  life  and  health  to  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  she  en- 
treated me  to  get  to  Chateauroux  and  return  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible to  Paris  through  Issoudun  and  Orleans.  I  tried  to  rebel ; 
she  insisted,  saying  that  her  familiar  had  counseled  her;  I 
obeyed.  Our  parting  this  time  was  watered  with  tears ;  she 
11 


162  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

was  afraid  of  the  captivations  of  the  world  I  was  about  to  live 
in.  Should  I  not  have  to  enter  seriously  into  the  whirl  of 
interests,  of  passions,  of  pleasures,  which  make  Paris  an  ocean 
fraught  with  perils  no  less  to  chaste  affections  than  to  a  clear 
conscience?  I  promised  her  that  I  would  write  her  every 
evening  the  events  and  the  thoughts  of  the  day.  At  this 
promise  she  laid  her  weary  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  said — 

"  Omit  nothing  ;  everything  will  interest  me." 

She  gave  me  letters  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  on  whom  I 
called  the  day  after  my  arrival. 

"You  are  in  luck,"  said  the  Duke.  "  Dine  here  and  come 
with  me  to  the  palace  this  evening ;  your  fortune  is  made. 
The  King  mentioned  your  name  this  morning,  adding,  '  He 
is  young,  able,  and  faithful.'  And  the  King  regretted  not 
knowing  whether  you  were  dead  or  alive,  and  whither  the 
course  of  events  had  led  you  after  you  had  so  well  fulfilled 
your  mission." 

That  evening  I  was  a  master  of  appeals  to  the  council  of 
state,  and  was  appointed  to  certain  secret  employment  for  the 
King — a  confidential  post  which  was  to  be  permanent  so  long 
as  he  should  reign,  not  splendid  in  appearance,  but  with  no 
risk  of  overthrow,  and  which  placed  me  at  the  heart  of  gov- 
ernment, and  was,  in  fact,  the  very  foundation  of  all  my  pros- 
perity. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  seen  clearly,  and  I  owed  every- 
thing to  her :  power  and  wealth,  happiness  and  knowledge ; 
she  guided  and  purified  my  heart,  and  gave  my  purpose  that 
unity  without  which  the  powers  of  youth  are  vainly  fritted 
away.  At  a  later  date  I  had  a  colleague.  Each  of  us  was  on 
service  for  six  months  at  a  time.  We  could  at  need  take  each 
other's  place  ;  we  had  a  room  in  the  palace,  a  carriage  at  our 
command,  and  a  handsome  allowance  for  expenses  when  called 
upon  to  travel. 

It  was  a  strange  position  !  We  were  the  secret  disciples  of 
a  monarch  to  whose  policy  his  enemies  have  since  done  signal 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  163 

justice ;  we  heard  his  judgment  on  all  matters  internal  and 
foreign ;  we  had  no  acknowledged  influence,  but  were  occa- 
sionally consulted,  as  Laforet  was  consulted  by  Moliere,  and 
we  heard  the  hesitancy  of  long  experience  corrected  by  the 
conscience  of  youth. 

Our  prospects  were  indeed  settled  in  a  way  to  satisfy  our 
ambition.  Beside  my  pay  as  master  of  appeals,  paid  out  of 
the  revenue  of  the  council  of  state,  the  King  gave  me  a  thou- 
sand francs  a  month  out  of  the  privy  purse,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  made  me  a  present.  Though  the  King  knew  full  well 
that  a  young  man  of  three-and-twenty  could  not  long  with- 
stand the  amount  of  work  he  piled  upon  me,  my  colleague,  now 
a  peer  of  France,  was  not  appointed  till  the  month  of  August, 
1817.  A  choice  was  so  difficult,  our  functions  demanded  such 
various  qualities,  that  the  King  was  long  in  coming  to  a  deci- 
sion. He  did  me  the  honor  to  ask  me  which  of  the  young  men 
among  whom  he  was  prepared  to  choose  would  best  suit  me  as 
a  companion.  One  of  the  number  was  a  former  comrade  of 
mine  at  the  Lepitre  boarding-house,  and  I  did  not  name  him. 
The  King  asked  me  why,  not  understanding  why  I  should 
pass  him  over. 

"Your  majesty,"  said  I,  "has  mentioned  men  of  equal 
loyalty,  but  of  different  degrees  of  ability.  I  have  named  the 
man  I  consider  the  most  capable,  feeling  certain  that  we  shall 
always  agree." 

My  judgment  coincided  with  the  King's,  who  was  always 
grateful  for  the  sacrifice  I  had  made.  On  this  occasion  he 
said  to  me,  "You  will  be  the  first  of  the  two."  And  he  gave 
my  colleague  to  understand  this ;  still,  in  return  for  this  ser- 
vice, my  deputy  became  my  friend. 

The  consideration  with  which  I  was  treated  by  the  Due  de 
Lenoncourt  was  the  standard  for  that  shown  me  by  the  rest  of 
the  world.  The  mere  words — "  The  King  is  greatly  interested 
in  this  young  man  ;  he  has  a  future  before  him ;  the  King 
likes  him" — would  have  sufficed  in  lieu  of  talents;  but  they 


164  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

also  added  to  the  kindness  shown  to  a  young  official  the  in- 
describable tribute  that  is  paid  only  to  power. 

Either  at  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt's  or  at  my  sister's  house 
— married  at  about  this  time  to  our  cousin  the  Marquis  de 
Listomere,  the  son  of  the  old  aunt  I  had  been  wont  to  visit 
in  the  He  Saint-Louis — I  gradually  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  most  influential  persons  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

Henriette  ere  long  threw  me  into  the  heart  of  the  circle 
known  as  the  "Petit-Chateau"  (little  castle),  by  the  good 
offices  of  the  Princesse  de  Blamont-Chauvry,  whose  grand- 
niece  she  was  by  marriage.  She  wrote  of  me  in  such  glowing 
terms  that  the  Princess  at  once  invited  me  to  call  on  her.  I 
was  assiduous  and  was  so  happy  as  to  please  her ;  she  became 
not  my  patroness,  but  a  friend  whose  feelings  were  almost 
maternal.  The  old  Princess  set  her  heart  on  making  me  inti- 
mate with  her  daughter  Madame  d'Espard,  with  the  Duchesse 
de  Langeais,  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant,  and  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse — women  who,  by  turns,  held  the  sceptre  of 
fashion  and  who  were  all  the  more  gracious  to  me  because  I 
made  no  claims  upon  them,  and  was  always  ready  to  be  of 
service  to  them. 

My  brother  Charles,  far  from  ignoring  me,  thenceforth  re- 
lied on  my  support ;  but  my  rapid  success  was  the  cause  of 
some  secret  jealousy,  which  at  a  later  period  gave  me  much 
annoyance.  My  father  and  mother,  amazed  by  such  unex- 
pected good  fortune,  felt  their  vanity  flattered  and  at  last  rec- 
ognized me  as  their  son  ;  but  as  the  sentiment  was  to  some 
extent  artificial,  not  to  say  acted,  this  revulsion  had  not  much 
effect  on  my  ulcerated  heart.  Beside,  affection  that  is  tainted 
with  selfishness  excites  little  sympathy;  the  heart  abhors 
every  form  of  calculation  and  profit. 

I  wrote  regularly  to  my  dear  Henriette,  who  answered  me 
in  a  letter  or  two  each  month.  Thus  her  spirit  hovered  over 
me,  her  thoughts  traversed  space  and  kept  a  pure  atmosphere 
about  me.  No  woman  could  attract  me.  The  King  knew  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  165 

my  reserve ;  in  such  matters  he  was  of  the  school  of  Louis 
XV.,  and  used  to  laugh  and  call  me  "  Mademoiselle  de  Van- 
denesse,"  but  the  propriety  of  my  conduct  was  very  much 
approved  by  him.  I  am  quite  sure  that  the  patience  which 
had  become  a  habit  during  my  childhood,  and  yet  more  at 
Clochegourde,  did  much  to  win  me  the  King's  good  graces ; 
he  was  always  most  kind  to  me.  He  no  doubt  indulged  a 
fancy  for  reading  my  letters,  for  he  was  not  long  under  any 
mistake  as  to  my  blameless  life.  One  day  when  the  Duke  was 
in  attendance  I  was  writing  from  the  King's  dictation,  and 
he,  seeing  the  Duke  come  in,  looked  mischievously  at  us  both. 
"  Well,  that  confounded  fellow  Mortsauf  still  persists  in 
living  on?"  said  he,  in  his  fine  ringing  voice,  to  which  he 
could  at  will  give  a  tone  of  biting  sarcasm. 
"  Yes,  still,"  replied  the  Duke. 

"  But  the  Countess  de  Mortsauf  is  an  angel  whom  I  should 
very  much  like  to  see  here,"  the  King  went  on.  "  However, 
I  can  do  nothing;  but  perhaps  my  secretary,"  and  he  turned 
to  me,  "  may  be  more  fortunate.  You  have  six  months' 
leave.  I  shall  engage  as  your  colleague  the  young  man  of 
whom  we  were  speaking  yesterday.  Enjoy  yourself  at  Clo- 
chegourde, Master  Cato  !  "  and  he  smiled  as  he  was  wheeled 
out  of  the  room  in  his  chair. 

I  flew  like  a  swallow  to  Touraine.  For  the  first  time  I  was 
about  to  show  myself  to  the  woman  I  loved,  not  only  as 
rather  less  of  a  simpleton,  but  in  the  paraphernalia  of  a 
young  man  of  fashion  whose  manners  had  been  formed  in  the 
politest  circles,  whose  education  had  been  finished  by  the 
most  charming  women,  who  had  at  last  won  the  reward  of  his 
sufferings,  and  who  had  made  good  use  of  the  experience  of 
the  fairest  angel  to  whom  heaven  ever  intrusted  the  care  of  a 
child. 

When  I  had  stayed  at  Clochegourde  at  the  time  of  my 
mission  in  la  Vendee,  I  had  been  in  shooting  dress ;  I  wore  a 
jacket  with  tarnished  white  metal  buttons,  finely  striped 


166  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

trousers,  leather  gaiters,  and  shoes.  My  long  tramp  and  the 
thickets  had  served  me  so  ill  that  the  Count  was  obliged  to 
lend  me  some  linen.  This  time,  two  years'  residence  in 
Paris,  the  duty  of  attending  the  King,  the  habits  of  wealth, 
my  now  complete  development,  and  a  youthful  countenance 
which  beamed  with  indescribable  light,  derived  from  the 
serenity  of  a  soul  magnetically  united  to  the  pure  soul  at 
Clochegourde  that  went  forth  to  me — all  had  transfigured  me; 
I  was  sure  of  myself  without  being  conceited ;  I  was  deeply 
satisfied  at  finding  myself,  young  as  I  was,  at  the  top  of  the 
tree ;  I  had  the  proud  consciousness  of  being  the  secret  main- 
stay of  the  most  adorable  woman  on  earth,  and  her  uncon- 
fessed  hope. 

I  felt  perhaps  some  stirrings  of  vanity  when  the  postillion's 
whip  cracked  in  the  newly-made  avenue  from  the  Chinon 
road  to  Clochegourde,  and  a  gate,  I  had  never  seen,  opened  in 
an  enclosing  wall  that  had  been  recently  built.  I  had  not 
written  to  announce  my  arrival  to  the  Countess,  wishing  to 
take  her  by  surprise  ;  but  this  was  a  twofold  blunder :  in  the 
first  place,  she  suffered  the  shock  of  a  pleasure  long  wished 
for,  but  regarded  as  impossible,  and  she  also  proved  to  me 
that  elaborate  surprises  are  always  in  bad  taste. 

When  Henriette  beheld  a  young  man  where  she  had  re- 
membered a  boy,  her  eyes  fell  with  a  tragical  droop;  she 
allowed  me  to  take  her  hand  and  kiss  it  without  showing  any 
of  the  heartfelt  pleasure  which  I  had  been  wont  to  perceive 
in  her  sensitive  thrill ;  and  when  she  raised  her  face  to  look 
at  me  again,  I  saw  that  she  was  pale. 

"So  you  do  not  forget  old  friends!"  said  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf,  who  had  neither  altered  nor  grown  older. 

The  two  children  sprang  into  my  arms ;  I  saw  in  the  door- 
way the  grave  face  of  the  Abbe"  de  Dominis,  Jacques'  tutor. 

"No,"  said  I  to  the  Count,  "and  henceforth  I  shall  have 
six  months  of  every  year  to  devote  always  to  you.  Why, 
what  is  the  matter?"  I  said  to  the  Countess,  putting  my  arm 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  167 

around  her  waist  to  support  her,  in  the  presence  of  all  her 
family. 

"Oh!  leave  me!"  she  exclaimed  with  a  start;  "it  is 
nothing." 

I  read  her  soul,  and  answered  her  secret  thought ;  I  said  to 
her,  ' '  Do  you  no  longer  acknowledge  me  for  your  faithful 
slave?" 

She  took  my  arm,  turned  away  from  the  Count,  the  chil- 
dren, the  abbe,  and  all  the  servants  who  had  hurried  out,  and 
led  me  round  the  lawn,  still  within  sight  of  them  all.  When 
we  had  gone  so  far  that  she  thought  she  could  not  be  heard — 

"Felix,  my  friend,"  she  said,  "forgive  the  alarms  of  a 
woman  who  has  but  one  clue  by  which  to  guide  herself  in  an 
underground  labyrinth,  and  fears  to  find  it  broken.  Tell  me 
once  more  that  I  am  more  than  ever  your  Henriette,  that  you 
will  not  desert  me,  that  nothing  can  dislodge  me,  that  you 
will  always  be  my  faithful  friend.  I  have  had  a  sudden  vision 
of  the  future — and  you  were  not  there  as  usual,  with  a  radiant 
face  and  your  eloquent  eyes  fixed  on  mine ;  you  had  your  back 
to  me." 

"  Henriette,  dear  idol,  whom  I  worship  more  than  I  do 
God;  lily,  flower  of  my  life,  how  can  you,  who  are  my  con- 
science, fail  to  know  that  I  am  so  entirely  part  of  your  heart, 
that  my  soul  is  here  when  my  body  is  in  Paris?  Need  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  traveled  hither  in  seventeen  hours ;  that  every 
turn  of  the  wheel  bore  with  it  a  world  of  thought  and  longing, 
which  broke  out  like  a  tempest  the  moment  I  saw  you " 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me !  I  am  sure  of  myself.  I  can  listen  to 
you  without  sinning.  God  does  not  desire  my  death;  He 
sends  you  to  me  as  He  gives  the  breath  of  life  to  His  crea- 
tures, as  He  sheds  rain  from  the  clouds  on  a  barren  land. 
Speak,  tell  me,  do  you  love  me  with  a  holy  love? " 

"With  a  holy  love." 

"And  forever?" 

"Forever." 


168  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"As  a  Virgin  Mary,  to  be  left  shrouded  in  her  draperies 
under  her  spotless  crown  ?  " 

"  As  a  visible  Virgin." 

"As  a  sister?  " 

"  As  a  sister  too  dearly  loved." 

"As  a  mother?" 

"  As  a  mother  I  secretly  long  for." 

"Chivalrously,  without  hope?" 

"  Chivalrously,  but  hoping." 

"  In  short,  as  if  you  were  still  but  twenty,  and  had  your 
shabby,  blue  evening-coat?" 

"  Oh,  far  better  !  I  love  you  like  that,  but  I  also  love  you 

as "  She  looked  at  me  in  keen  alarm.  "As  you  loved 

your  aunt." 

"  Ah  !  I  am  happy;  you  have  relieved  my  fears,"  said  she, 
going  to  the  others,  who  were  puzzled  by  our  private  colloquy. 

"  Be  still  a  child  here  !  for  you  are  but  a  child.  If  your 
best  policy  is  to  be  a  man  to  the  King,  understand  that  here 
it  is  to  be  a  boy.  As  a  boy  you  will  be  loved.  I  shall  al- 
ways resist  the  powers  of  the  man,  but  what  can  I  deny  a 
child  ?  Nothing ;  he  can  ask  nothing  that  I  would  not  grant. 
We  have  told  all  our  secrets,"  she  added,  looking  at  the  Count 
with  a  saucy  smile,  in  which  I  saw  her  a  girl  again  in  all  her 
simple  nature.  "  I  am  now  going  in  to  dress." 

Never  for  three  years  had  I  known  her  voice  so  thoroughly 
happy.  It  was  the  first  time  I  heard  those  swallow-like  notes, 
that  childlike  tone  of  which  I  have  spoken. 

I  had  brought  a  sportsman's  outfit  for  Jacques  and  a  work- 
box  for  Madeleine — which  her  mother  always  used  ;  in  short, 
I  had  made  up  for  the  shabbiness  to  which  I  had  hitherto 
been  condemned  by  my  mother's  parsimony.  The  delight 
of  the  two  children  as  they  displayed  their  presents  to  each 
other  seemed  to  annoy  the  Count,  who  was  always  aggrieved 
if  he  was  not  the  centre  of  attentions.  I  gave  Madeleine  a 
look  of  intelligence  and  followed  the  Count,  who  wanted  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  169 

talk  about  himself.  He  led  me  to  the  terrace ;  but  we  paused 
on  the  steps  at  each  solemn  fact  he  impressed  upon  me. 

"  My  poor,  dear  Felix,"  said  he,  "  you  find  them  all  happy 
and  in  good  health.  It  is  I  who  give  shadow  to  the  picture. 
I  have  absorbed  their  maladies,  and  I  can  bless  God  for  hav- 
ing inflicted  them  on  me.  I  used  not  to  know  what  ailed 
me  ;  but  I  know  now — I  have  a  disease  of  the  pylorus  ;  I  can 
digest  nothing." 

"  By  what  good  luck  have  you  become  as  learned  as  a  pro- 
fessor of  the  College  of  Physicians?"  said  I,  smiling.  "Is 
your  doctor  so  indiscreet  as  to  tell  you  this  ?  " 

"Heaven  preserve  me  from  consulting  doctors!"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  the  look  of  repugnance  that  most  imaginary 
invalids  show  at  the  thought  of  medical  treatment. 

Then  I  had  to  listen  to  a  crazy  harangue,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  was  ridiculously  confidential,  complaining  of  his 
wife,  his  servants,  his  children,  and  his  life,  taking  evident 
delight  in  repeating  his  remarks  of  every  day  to  a  friend  who, 
not  knowing  them,  might  be  startled  by  them  and  who  was 
obliged  by  politeness  to  seem  interested.  He  must  have  been 
satisfied,  for  I  listened  with  deep  attention,  trying  to  formu- 
late this  inconceivable  character,  and  to  guess  what  new  tor- 
ments he  was  inflicting  on  his  wife,  though  she  had  not  said  so. 

Henriette  herself  put  an  end  to  the  monologue  by  coming 
out  on  the  steps.  The  Count  saw  her,  shook  his  head,  and 
added — 

"  You,  Felix,  listen  to  me ;  but  no  one  here  has  any  pity 
for  me." 

And  he  went  away  as  though  aware  that  he  would  be  in  the 
way  during  my  conversation  with  Henriette,  or  perhaps  as  a 
chivalrous  attention  to  her,  knowing  that  he  would  give  her 
pleasure  by  leaving  us  together.  His  character  was  full  of 
really  inexplicable  contradictions,  for  he  was  jealous,  as  all 
weak  persons  are ;  but  his  confidence  in  his  wife's  saintliness 
knew  no  bounds ;  perhaps  it  was  the  irritation  to  his  vanity 


170  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

caused  by  the  superiority  of  her  lofty  virtue  that  gave  rise  to 
his  constant  antagonism  to  the  Countess'  wishes,  whom  he 
loved  to  defy  as  children  defy  their  mother  and  their  masters. 
Jacques  was  at  his  lessons,  Madeleine  was  dressing ;  thus  I 
had  an  hour  to  walk  alone  with  the  Countess  on  the  terrace. 

"  Well,  dear  angel,"  I  asked,  "  so  the  chain  is  heavier  than 
ever,  the  sands  more  scorching,  the  thorns  more  thickly  set?" 

"  Be  silent,"  said  she,  guessing  what  thoughts  had  been 
suggested  to  me  by  the  Count's  conversation.  "You  are  here 
and  all  is  forgotten !  I  am  not,  I  have  not  been  unhappy." 

She  danced  a  few  light  steps  as  if  to  flutter  her  white  dress, 
to  let  the  breezes  play  with  her  frills  of  snowy  tulle,  her  loose 
sleeves,  her  bright  ribbons,  her  cape,  and  the  airy  curls  of  her 
hair  dressed  a  la  Sevigne ;  I  saw  her  for  the  first  time  really 
girlish  and  young,  naturally  gay,  and  as  ready  for  sport  as  a 
child.  I  experienced  both  the  tears  of  happiness  and  the 
delight  a  man  feels  in  giving  pleasure. 

"Sweet  flower  of  humanity,"  cried  I,  "that  my  fancy 
caresses  and  my  spirit  kisses  !  Oh  my  lily  !  still  intact  and 
erect  on  its  stem,  still  white,  proud,  fragrant,  and  alone  !  " 

"That  is  enough,  monsieur,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  Talk  to  me  about  yourself,  and  tell  me  everything." 

And  then,  under  the  moving  canopy  of  quivering  leaves, 
we  had  a  long  conversation,  full  of  endless  parentheses,  each 
subject  dropped  and  taken  up  again,  in  which  I  initiated  her 
into  my  whole  life  and  all  my  occupations.  I  described  my 
rooms  in  Paris,  for  she  wanted  to  know  everything,  and  I — 
joy  then  not  fully  appreciated  ! — I  had  nothing  to  conceal. 
As  she  thus  read  all  my  soul,  and  learned  all  the  details  of  my 
life  full  of  overwhelming  toil,  as  she  discerned  the  import- 
ance of  my  functions,  in  which,  but  for  the  strictest  honesty, 
it  would  be  so  easy  to  cheat  and  grow  rich,  and  which  I 
exercised  with  such  fidelity  that  the  King,  as  I  told  her, 
nicknamed  me  Mademoiselle  de  Vandenesse,  she  clasped  my 
hand  and  kissed  it,  leaving  on  it  a  tear  of  joy.  This  sudden 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  171 

inversion  of  our  parts,  this  splendid  praise,  the  swiftly  ex- 
pressed feeling,  even  more  swiftly  understood.  "  You  are 
indeed  the  master  I  could  have  obeyed,  the  fulfillment  of  my 
dream  !  " — all  the  avowal  expressed  in  this  action,  whose  very 
humility  was  dignity,  betraying  love  in  a  sphere  far  above  the 
senses ;  this  whirl  of  heavenly  emotions  fell  on  my  heart  and 
crushed  me.  I  felt  so  small !  I  wished  I  could  die  at  her  feet. 

"  Oh  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  you  women  will  always  outdo  us  in 
every  way.  How  could  you  doubt  me  ? — for  you  did  doubt 
me  just  now,  Henriette." 

"  Not  in  the  present,"  she  replied,  looking  at  me  with  the 
ineffable  sweetness  that  softened  the  light  in  her  eyes  for  me 
alone.  "  But  seeing  you  so  handsome,  I  said  to  myself:  Our 
plans  for  Madeleine  will  be  marred  by  some  woman  who  will 
guess  what  treasures  lie  below,  who  will  worship  you,  rob  us 
of  our  Felix,  and  destroy  everything  for  us." 

"  Still  Madeleine  !"  said  I,  with  an  expression  of  surprise 
which  only  half-distressed  her.  "  Is  it  to  Madeleine  that  I 
remain  faithful?  " 

We  then  sat  in  silence,  very  provokingly  interrupted  by 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf.  My  heart  was  full,  but  I  had  to  keep 
up  a  conversation  beset  with  difficulties,  in  which  my  truthful 
replies  as  to  the  policy  then  carried  out  by  the  King  offended 
the  Count's  views,  while  he  insisted  on  my  explaining  his 
majesty's  intentions.  Notwithstanding  my  questions  as  to 
his  horses,  the  state  of  agriculture,  whether  he  was  satisfied 
with  his  five  farms,  if  he  meant  to  fell  the  trees  in  the  old 
avenue,  he  constantly  came  back  to  politics  with  the  petulance 
of  an  old  maid  and  the  pertinacity  of  a  child  ;  for  minds  of 
this  type  always  eagerly  turn  to  the  side  where  light  shines, 
they  blunder  up  to  it  again  and  again,  buzzing  round  but 
getting  no  nearer,  exhausting  one's  spirit  as  bluebottle  flies 
weary  the  ear  by  humming  against  the  window-pane. 

Henriette  said  nothing.  I,  to  put  an  end  to  a  dialogue 
which  the  warmth  of  youth  might  have  heated  to  a  flame,  re- 


172  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

plied  in  assenting  monosyllables,  thus  avoiding  a  useless  dis- 
cussion ;  but  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  far  too  clear-sighted 
not  to  discern  the  offensive  side  of  my  politeness.  Presently 
he  turned  restive,  vexed  at  being  constantly  agreed  with ;  his 
eyebrows  and  the  wrinkles  in  his  forehead  twitched,  his  tawny 
eyes  flashed,  his  bloodshot  nose  turned  redder  than  ever,  as 
on  that  day  when,  for  the  first  time,  I  witnessed  one  of  his  fits 
of  frenzy.  Henriette  gave  me  a  beseeching  look  to  convey 
to  me  that  she  could  not  exert  on  my  behalf  the  firmness 
she  employed  in  justifying  or  defending  the  children. 

I  then  answered  the  Count,  taking  him  seriously,  and  man- 
aging him  with  the  greatest  skill. 

"Poor  dear!  poor  dear!"  she  said,  murmuring  the  words 
again  and  again ;  they  fell  on  my  ear  like  a  breath  of  air. 
Then,  when  she  thought  she  could  interfere  with  some  success, 
she  exclaimed,  interrupting  us — 

"Do  you  know,  gentlemen,  that  you  are  desperately  un- 
amusing?" 

Recalled  by  this  remark  to  the  chivalrous  deference  due  to 
a  woman,  the  Count  ceased  discussing  politics ;  it  was  now 
his  turn  to  be  bored  as  we  talked  of  trifles,  and  he  left  us  free 
to  walk  together,  saying  that  perpetually  pacing  up  and  down 
on  the  same  spot  made  him  giddy. 

My  gloomy  conjectures  were  accurate.  The  fair  scenery, 
the  mild  atmosphere,  the  clear  sky,  the  exquisite  poetry  of 
this  valley,  which  for  fifteen  years  had  soothed  the  acutest 
vagaries  of  this  sick  brain,  had  now  lost  their  power.  At  an 
age  when  in  most  men  the  rough  edges  wear  down  and  the 
angles  rub  smooth,  this  old  gentleman's  temper  was  more 
aggressive  than  ever.  For  some  months  now  he  had  been 
contradictory  for  contradiction's  sake,  without  reason,  without 
justifying  his  opinions ;  he  asked  the  wherefore  of  everything, 
fussed  over  a  delay  or  a  message,  interfered  incessantly  in 
domestic  matters,  and  demanded  an  account  of  the  smallest 
details  of  the  househeld,  till  he  wore  out  his  wife  and  his 


THE  *LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  173 

servants,  leaving  them  no  freedom  of  action.  Formerly  he  had 
not  given  way  to  his  temper  without  some  plausible  reason, 
now  his  fractiousness  was  incessant.  The  care  of  his  money 
and  the  anxieties  of  husbandry,  with  the  stir  of  a  busy  life, 
had  perhaps  diverted  his  atrabilious  humor  by  giving  his  anx- 
ious spirit  something  to  work  on,  and  employing  his  active 
mind ;  perhaps  it  was  want  of  occupation  that  now  left  his 
disorder  to  react  upon  itself;  having  nothing  outside  him  to 
fret  it,  it  took  the  form  of  fixed  ideas ;  the  physical  individual 
had  become  the  victim  of  the  moral  individual. 

He  was  now  his  own  doctor.  He  compared  medical  works, 
and  believed  he  had  all  the  complaints  of  which  he  read  the 
descriptions ;  then  he  took  the  most  elaborate  precautions  to 
guard  his  health ;  always  something  new,  impossible  to  foresee, 
more  impossible  to  satisfy.  At  one  time  he  would  have  no 
noise ;  and  when  the  Countess  had  succeeded  in  establishing 
total  silence  he  would  suddenly  complain  of  living  in  a  tomb, 
and  say  that  there  was  a  medium  between  making  no  noise 
and  the  muteness  of  La  Trappe.  Sometimes  he  affected  abso- 
lute indifference  to  all  earthly  things ;  then  the  whole  house 
breathed  again  :  the  children  could  play,  the  work  of  the 
household  was  carried  on  without  any  fault-finding ;  suddenly, 
in  the  midst  of  it  all,  he  would  cry  out  piteously,  "You  want 
to  kill  me  !  My  dear,  if  it  concerned  the  children,  you  would 
know  by  instinct  what  annoyed  them  !  "  he  would  say  to  his 
wife,  adding  to  the  injustice  of  the  words  by  the  hard,  cold 
tone  in  which  he  spoke  them.  Then  he  was  for  ever  dressing 
and  undressing,  studying  the  least  variations  of  temperature, 
and  never  doing  anything  without  consulting  the  barometer. 
In  spite  of  his  wife's  motherly  care,  he  never  found  any  food 
to  his  liking,  for  he  declared  that  his  stomach  was  always  out 
of  order,  and  that  painful  digestion  hindered  his  sleeping;  at 
the  same  time,  he  ate,  drank,  digested  and  slept  in  a  way  that 
the  most  learned  physician  might  have  admired.  His  endless 
caprices  wore  out  the  household ;  like  all  servants,  they  were  the 


174  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VA'LLEY. 

slaves  of  routine,  and  incapable  of  accommodating  themselves 
to  the  exigencies  of  constantly  varying  orders.  The  Count 
would  desire  that  all  the  windows  were  to  be  left  open,  as  fresh 
air  was  indispensable  to  his  health ;  a  few  days  later  the  air 
was  too  damp,  or  too  hot,  he  could  not  endure  it ;  he  scolded, 
he  quarreled  over  it,  and,  to  be  in  the  right,  would  deny  his 
previous  order.  This  lack  of  memory,  or  of  honesty,  of 
course  gave  him  the  victory  in  every  discussion  when  his  wife 
tried  to  prove  that  he  contradicted  himself. 

A  residence  at  Clochegourde  was  so  unendurable  that  the 
Abb6  de  Dominis,  an  exceedingly  learned  man,  had  fallen 
back  on  the  solution  of  certain  problems  and  intrenched  him- 
self in  affected  absence  of  mind.  The  Countess  no  longer 
hoped  to  be  able  to  keep  the  secret  of  his  fits  of  mad  fury 
within  the  family  circle,  as  of  old.  The  servants  had  already 
witnessed  many  scenes  when  the  prematurely  old  man's  un- 
reasoning rage  passed  all  bounds ;  they  were  so  much  attached 
to  the  Countess  that  nothing  was  ever  repeated,  but  she  lived 
in  daily  terror  of  some  outburst  in  public  of  a  frenzy  which  no 
respect  of  persons  could  now  control.  At  a  later  time  I  heard 
terrible  details  of  the  Count's  behavior  to  his  wife  ;  instead  of 
being  a  help  to  her  he  overwhelmed  her  with  gloomy  predic- 
tions, making  her  responsible  for  future  ills  because  she  refused 
to  follow  the  insane  medical  treatment  he  wished  to  inflict  on 
the  children.  If  the  Countess  went  out  walking  with  Jacques 
and  Madeleine,  her  husband  would  prophesy  of  coming 
storms  in  spite  of  a  clear  sky;  then,  if  by  chance  his  prediction 
was  justified  by  the  event,  his  conceit  was  so  much  gratified 
as  to  be  indifferent  to  the  harm  done  to  his  children.  If  one 
of  them  fell  ill,  the  Count  exercised  his  wit  in  finding  a  cause 
for  the  attack  in  the  system  of  nursing  adopted  by  his  wife, 
which  he  would  dispute  in  its  minutest  details,  always  ending 
with  these  brutal  words,  "  If  your  children  are  ill  again,  it  is 
all  your  own  doing !  " 

He  carried  this  system  into  the  smallest  points  of  domestic 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  175 

management,  in  which  he  always  saw  the  worst  side  of  things, 
and  made  himself  "the  devil's  advocate,"  to  quote  his  old 
coachman's  expression.  The  Countess  had  arranged  that 
Jacques  and  Madeleine  should  have  their  meals  at  a  different 
hour  from  their  parents,  and  had  thus  preserved  them  from 
the  dreadful  effects  of  the  Count's  malady,  meeting  every  storm 
as  it  broke.  The  children  rarely  saw  their  father. 

By  an  illusion  peculiar  to  selfish  people,  the  Count  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  mischief  he  caused.  In  his  confidential  con- 
versation with  me  he  had,  indeed,  blamed  himself  for  too 
great  leniency  to  his  family.  Thus  he  wielded  the  knout, 
felling  and  destroying  everything  about  him  as  a  monkey 
might  have  done,  and  after  wounding  his  victim  denied  that 
he  had  ever  touched  her.  I  understood  now  what  had  drawn 
the  lines,  as  fine  as  razor-cuts,  across  the  Countess'  brow ;  I 
had  noticed  them  as  soon  as  I  saw  her.  There  is  a  sort  of 
modesty  in  noble  souls  that  keeps  them  from  uttering  their 
sorrows ;  they  hide  their  griefs  from  those  they  love,  out  of 
pride  and  a  feeling  of  luxurious  charity.  And  in  spite  of  my 
urgency,  I  did  not  at  once  extract  this  confession  from  Hen- 
riette.  She  feared  to  distress  me  ;  she  let  things  out,  bit  by 
bit,  with  sudden  blushes;  but  I  was  not  slow  to  guess  the 
aggravated  bitterness  that  her  husband's  want  of  occupation 
had  infused  into  the  domestic  miseries  of  Clochegourde. 

"  Henriette,"  said  I  a  few  days  later,  showing  her  that  I 
had  sounded  the  depths  of  her  new  griefs,  "did  you  not  make 
a  mistake  when  you  planned  your  estate  so  completely  as  to 
leave  the  Count  nothing  to  employ  him?" 

"Nay,  dear,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "my  position  is  so 
critical  as  to  need  all  my  attention  ;  believe  me,  I  have  studied 
every  alternative — they  are  all  exhausted.  It  is  true,  worries 
increase  every  day.  As  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  and  I  are  al- 
ways together,  I  cannot  diminish  them  by  distributing  them 
to  several  points ;  everything  must  bring  the  same  suffering  on 
me.  I  had  thoughts  of  amusing  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  by 


176  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

advising  him  to  introduce  the  culture  of  silk-worms  at  Cloche- 
gourde  ;  there  are  some  mulberry  trees  here  already,  survivors 
from  that  industry,  once  known  in  Touraine  ;  but  I  under- 
stood that  he  would  be  none  the  less  tyrannical  at  home, 
that  all  the  thousand  troubles  of  the  undertaking  would  fall 
upon  me. 

"You  see,  my  observing  friend,"  she  went  on,  "while  a 
man  is  young  his  bad  qualities  are  controlled  by  the  outer 
world,  impeded  in  their  rise  by  the  other  passions,  checked 
by  respect  of  persons;  but  later,  in  retirement,  as  a  man 
grows  old,  little  faults  come  forth,  all  the  more  terrible  be- 
cause they  have  so  long  been  kept  under.  Human  weakness 
is  essentially  cowardly;  it  grants  neither  peace  nor  truce; 
what  has  once  been  surrendered  yesterday  it  insists  on  to-day, 
to-morrow,  and  for  ever  after ;  it  takes  possession  of  all  that 
is  conceded  and  demands  more.  Strength  is  merciful ;  it 
yields  to  conviction ;  it  is  just  and  peaceable,  while  the  pas- 
sions that  are  born  of  weakness  are  pitiless.  They  are  never 
satisfied  but  when  they  can  behave  like  children,  who  like 
stolen  fruit  better  than  what  they  may  eat  at  table.  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  takes  a  real  pleasure  in  stealing  a  march  on  me ; 
he  who  would  never  deceive  anybody  loves  to  deceive  me  so 
long  as  the  trick  remains  unknown." 

One  morning,  about  a  month  after  my  arrival,  as  we  came 
out  from  breakfast,  the  Countess  took  my  arm,  hurried  out  by 
a  railed  gate  that  opened  into  the  orchard,  and  dragged  me 
away  to  the  vineyard. 

"Oh!  he  will  kill  me!"  she  cried.  "And  yet  I  must 
live,  if  only  for  the  children's  sake  !  Can  I  not  have  a  single 
day's  respite?  Must  I  always  be  stumbling  over  brambles, 
expecting  every  moment  to  fall,  compelled  every  moment  to 
summon  all  my  strength  to  keep  my  balance !  No  living 
creature  can  endure  such  an  expenditure  of  energy.  If  only 
I  knew  the  ground  I  should  be  called  upon  to  struggle  over, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  177 

if  my  endurance  were  a  fixed  quantity,  my  spirit  would  bend 
to  it ;  but  no,  the  attack  comes  every  day  in  a  new  form  and 
finds  me  defenseless ;  my  trouble  is  not  single,  but  manifold. 
Felix,  Felix,  you  could  never  imagine  the  odious  aspect  his 
tyranny  has  assumed,  or  the  odious  'measures  suggested  to 

him  by  his  medical  books.     Ah  !  my  friend "  she  leaned 

her  head  on  my  shoulder  without  finishing  her  sentence. 
"  What  is  to  become  of  me  ;  what  can  I  do?"  she  went  on, 
fighting  with  the  ideas  she  had  not  uttered.  "  How  can  I 
contend  with  him  ?  He  will  kill  me.  No,  I  will  kill  myself 
— only  that  is  a  crime  !  Can  I  fly  ?  There  are  the  children ! 
Demand  a  separation  ?  But  how,  after  fifteen  years  of  married 
life,  am  I  to  tell  my  father  that  I  cannot  live  with  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  when,  if  my  father  or  my  mother  were  to  come 
here,  he  would  be  calm,  well-conducted,  polite,  and  witty. 
And,  beside,  has  a  married  woman  a  father  and  a  mother? 
She  belongs,  body  and  soul,  to  her  husband.  I  used  to  live 
in  peace ;  if  not  happy,  I  found  some  strength  in  my  chaste 
isolation.  I  confess  it,  if  I  am  bereft  of  that  negative  comfort, 
I,  too,  shall  go  mad  !  My  objection  is  founded  on  reasons 
not  personal  to  myself.  Is  it  not  wicked  to  bring  poor  little 
creatures  into  the  world,  who  are  doomed  from  birth  to  con- 
stant suffering?  At  the  same  time,  this  question  of  conduct 
is  so  serious  that  I  cannot  solve  it  unaided :  I  am  judge  and 
party  to  the  suit.  I  will  go  to  Tours  to-morrow  and  consult 
the  Abbe  Birotteau,  my  new  director  —  for  my  dear  and 
worthy  Abbe  de  la  Berge  is  dead,"  she  said  in  a  parenthesis. 
"  Though  he  was  stern,  I  shall  always  miss  his  apostolic  firm- 
ness ;  his  successor  is  an  angel  of  mildness  who  is  too  easily 
touched  to  reprimand  me.  However,  what  courage  can  fail 
to  find  refreshment  in  religion  ?  What  reason  but  will  gain 
strength  from  the  voice  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ? 

"  Dear  God  !  "  she  exclaimed,  drying  her  tears  and  looking 
up  to  heaven,  "  for  what  am  I  thus  punished  ?    But  we  must 
believe — yes,  Felix,"   she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  my  arm, 
12 


178  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"  let  us  believe  that  we  must  pass  through  a  red-hot  crucible 
before  we  can  mount  holy  and  perfect  to  the  higher  spheres. 
Ought  I  to  be  silent  ?  Does  God  forbid  my  crying  out  to  a 
friend's  heart.  Do  I  love  him  too  well  ?  "  She  clasped  me  to 
her  as  though  she  feared  to  lose  me.  "  Who  will  answer  my 
doubts  ?  My  conscience  does  not  reproach  me.  The  stars 
above  shine  down  on  men  ;  why,  then,  should  not  the  soul,  that 
living  star,  shed  its  fires  over  and  round  a  friend  when  only 
pure  thoughts  go  out  to  him?  " 

I  listened  in  silence  to  this  terrible  outcry,  holding  her 
clammy  hand  in  my  own,  which  was  moister  still ;  I  grasped 
it  with  a  force  to  which  my  Henriette  responded  with  equal 
pressure. 

"You  are  there,  are  you?"  exclaimed  the  Count,  coming 
toward  us  bareheaded. 

Since  my  return  he  had  insisted  on  always  being  the  third 
whenever  we  met,  either  because  he  counted  on  some  amuse- 
ment, or  because  he  suspected  the  Countess  of  telling  me  of 
all  her  sorrows  and  bewailing  herself  to  me ;  or,  again,  be- 
cause, perhaps,  he  was  morbidly  jealous  of  a  pleasure  he  did 
not  share. 

"How  he  follows  me  about!"  said  she  in  a  tone  of 
despair.  "  We  will  go  to  look  at  the  clos  (field),  and  then  we 
shall  avoid  him.  Stoop  low  behind  the  hedges  and  we  shall 
escape."  We  screened  ourselves  behind  a  thick  hedge,  and 
reaching  the  vineyard  at  a  run,  found  ourselves  far  enough 
from  the  Count  under  an  alley  of  almond  trees. 

"  Dear  Henriette,"  said  I,  holding  her  arm  pressed  against 
my  heart,  and  standing  still  to  contemplate  her  in  her  sorrow, 
"  you  could  once  steer  me  wisely  through  the  perilous  ways 
of  the  great  world.  Allow  me  now  to  give  you  some  instruc- 
tions to  help  you  to  end  the  single-handed  duel  in  which  you 
must  infallibly  be  defeated,  for  you  and  he  are  not  fighting 
with  equal  weapons.  Cease,  struggle  no  longer  against  a 
madman " 


THE  LIL  Y  OF  THE    VALLE  Y.  179 

"  Hush !  "  she  exclaimed,  keeping  back  the  tears  that  filled 
her  eyes. 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  dearest.  After  an  hour  of  his  talk, 
which  I  endure  for  your  sake,  my  mind  is  often  bewildered 
and  my  head  aches ;  the  Count  makes  me  doubt  my  very 
senses;  the  same  things  repeated  are  stamped  in  my  brain  in 
spite  of  myself.  A  strongly  marked  monomania  is  not  infec- 
tious ;  when  madness  takes  the  form  of  affecting  a  man's 
views  and  hides  itself  behind  perpetual  discussions,  it  may 
act  terribly  on  those  who  live  with  it.  Your  patience  is  sub- 
lime, but  is  it  not  stultifying  ?  For  your  own  sake,  for  your 
children's,  change  your  system  with  the  Count.  Your  ex- 
quisite submissiveness  has  increased  his  egoism ;  you  treat  him 
as  a  mother  treats  the  child  she  spoils.  But  now,  if  you  wish 
to  live — and  you  do,"  I  added,  looking  her  in  the  face,  "ex- 
ert all  the  influence  you  have  over  him.  He  loves  and  he 
fears  you — you  know  it ;  make  him  fear  you  more ;  meet  his 
diffused  willfulness  with  a  narrow,  set  will.  Increase  your 
power,  just  as  he  has  managed  to  increase  the  concessions  you 
have  granted ;  imprison  his  infirmities  in  a  narrow  moral 
sphere,  as  a  maniac  is  imprisoned  in  a  cell." 

"  Dear  boy,"  said  she,  smiling  bitterly,  "  none  but  a  heart- 
less woman  could  play  such  a  part.  I  am  a  mother ;  I  should 
make  a  feeble  executioner.  I  can  suffer — yes ;  but  to  make 
others  suffer! — Never,"  she  said,  "not  even  to  attain  some 
great  or  conspicuous  advantage.  Should  I  not  have  to  falsify 
my  feelings,  disguise  my  voice,  set  my  face,  restrain  every 
gesture  ?  Do  not  require  such  lies  of  me.  I  can  stand  be- 
tween Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  and  his  children  ;  I  can  take  his 
blows  so  that  they  may  fall  on  no  one  else ;  that  is  the  utmost 
I  can  do  to  reconcile  so  many  antagonistic  interests." 

"Let  me  worship  you!  Saint,  thrice  saintly!"  I  ex- 
claimed, kneeling  on  one  knee,  kissing  her  dress,  and  wiping 
on  it  the  tears  that  rose  to  my  eyes.  "  But  if  he  should  kill 
you  !  "  said  I. 


180  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

She  shuddered,  turned  pale,  and  raising  her  moisture-laden 
eyes  to  heaven — 

"God's  will  be  done,"  she  replied. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  King  said  to  your  father  when 
speaking  of  you :  '  That  old  wretch  of  a  Mortsauf  still  lives 
on?"' 

"What  is  a  jest  on  the  King's  lips  is  a  crime  here,"  she 
replied. 

In  spite  of  our  precautions,  the  Count  had  tracked  us; 
bathed  in  sweat,  he  came  up  with  us  under  a  walnut  tree, 
where  the  Countess  had  paused  to  speak  these  grave  words. 
As  soon  as  I  saw  him,  I  began  to  discuss  the  vintage.  Had 
he  any  unjust  suspicions  ?  I  know  not,  but  he  stood  looking 
at  us  without  saying  a  word,  or  heeding  the  damp  chill  that 
falls  from  a  walnut  tree. 

After  a  few  minutes,  during  which  he  spoke  in  broken  sen- 
tences of  little  or  no  meaning,  with  pauses  of  very  great  signifi- 
cance, the  Count  said  he  had  a  sick  headache;  he  complained 
of  it  mildly,  not  claiming  our  pity  nor  describing  his  indis- 
position in  exaggerated  terms.  We  paid  no  heed  to  him. 
When  we  went  in  he  felt  still  worse,  talked  of  going  to  bed, 
and  did  so  without  ceremony,  with  a  simplicity  that  was  very 
unusual.  We  took  advantage  of  the  armistice  granted  to  us 
by  his  fit  of  hypochondria  and  went  down  to  our  beloved 
terrace,  taking  Madeleine  with  us. 

"  Let  us  go  out  on  the  river,"  said  the  Countess  after  a 
few  turns ,  "we  will  go  to  see  the  fish  caught  by  the  game- 
keeper for  to-day's  supply." 

We  went  out  of  the  little  gate,  found  the  punt,  got  into  it, 
and  slowly  pushed  up  stream.  Like  three  children,  delighted 
with  trifles,  we  looked  at  the  flowers  on  the  banks,  at  the 
blue  and  green  dragon-flies,  and  the  Countess  wondered  that 
she  could  enjoy  such  tranquil  pleasures  in  the  midst  of  so 
much  acute  grief.  But  does  not  the  calm  influence  of  nature 
moving  on,  indifferent  to  our  struggles,  exert  a  consoling 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  181 

charm?  The  swirl  of  passion,  with  its  suppressed  longings, 
harmonizes  with  that  of  the  river;  the  flowers,  unforced  by 
the  hand  of  man,  express  his  most  secret  dreams ;  the  de- 
licious see-saw  of  a  boat  vaguely  repeats  the  thoughts  that 
float  in  the  brain. 

We  felt  the  lulling  influence  of  this  twofold  poetry.  Our 
words,  strung  to  the  diapason  of  nature,  were  full  of  mysteri- 
ous grace,  and  our  eyes  shone  with  brighter  beams,  as  they 
caught  the  light  so  lavishly  shed  by  the  sun  on  the  scorching 
shore.  The  river  was  like  a  road  on  which  we  flew.  In  short, 
disengaged  from  the  mechanical  movement  exerted  in  walk- 
ing, the  mind  took  possession  of  creation.  And  was  not  the 
excited  glee  of  the  little  girl  in  her  freedom — so  pretty  in  her 
movements,  so  puzzling  in  her  remarks — the  living  expression 
of  two  souls  set  free,  and  indulging  in  the  ideal  creation  of 
the  being  dreamed  of  by  Plato,  and  known  to  all  whose  youth 
has  been  filled  with  happy  love  ? 

To  give  you  an  idea  of  that  hour,  not  in  its  indescribable 
details,  but  as  a  whole,  I  may  say  that  we  loved  each  other  in 
every  creature,  in  every  object  that  we  saw  about  us ;  we  felt 
outside  us  the  happiness  each  longed  for;  it  sank  so  deeply 
into  our  hearts  that  the  Countess  drew  off  her  gloves  and  let 
her  beautiful  hands  play  in  the  water,  as  if  to  cool  some  secret 
fires.  Her  eyes  spoke ;  but  her  lips,  parted  like  a  rose  to  the 
air,  would  have  closed  on  a  desire.  You  know  the  harmony 
of  deep  notes  in  perfect  concord  with  a  high  treble ;  it  always 
reminds  me  of  the  harmony  of  our  two  souls  that  day,  never 
more  to  be  repeated. 

"  Where  do  your  men  fish,"  I  asked,  "  if  you  can  only  fish 
from  your  own  banks  ?  ' ' 

"  Near  the  bridge  at  Ruan,"  said  she.  "  The  river  is  ours 
now  from  the  bridge  at  Ruan  down  to  Clochegourde.  Mon-r 
sieur  de  Mortsauf  has  just  bought  forty  acres  of  meadow  with 
the  savings  of  the  last  two  years  and  the  arrears  of  his  pen- 
sion. Does  that  surprise  you  ?" 


182  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"I?  I  only  wish  that  the  whole  valley  was  yours!"  I 
exclaimed,  and  she  answered  with  a  smile. 

We  were  presently  above  Pont  de  Ruan,  at  a  spot  where 
the  Indre  widens  and  where  the  men  were  fishing. 

"Well,  Martineau?"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  luck  is  against  us.  We  have 
been  out  three  hours,  working  up  from  the  mill,  and  we  have 
caught  nothing." 

We  landed  to  help  draw  the  net  once  more,  standing,  all 
three  of  us,  in  the  shade  of  a  poplar,  with  silvery  bark,  of  a 
kind  common  on  the  Danube  and  the  Loire,  which  in  spring- 
time sheds  a  silky  white  fluff,  the  wrapper  of  its  catkins. 
The  Countess  had  resumed  her  serene  dignity ;  she  repented 
of  having  confessed  her  pangs  to  me,  and  of  crying  out  like 
Job  instead  of  weeping  like  a  Magdalen — a  Magdalen  bereft 
of  lovers,  of  feasts  and  dissipations,  but  not  without  perfume 
and  beauty. 

The  net  was  drawn  at  her  feet,  full  of  fish — tench,  barbel, 
pike,  perch,  and  an  enormous  carp  leaped  upon  the  grass. 

"They  were  sent  on  purpose  !  "  said  the  keeper. 

The  laborers  stared  open-eyed  with  admiration  of  the  woman 
standing  like  a  fairy  who  had  touched  the  net  with  her  wand. 

At  this  moment  a  groom  appeared,  riding  at  a  gallop  across 
the  fields,  and  filling  her  with  qualms  of  horror.  Jacques  was 
not  with  us ;  and  a  mother's  first  instinct,  as  Virgil  has  so 
poetically  expressed  it,  is  to  clasp  her  children  to  her  bosom 
on  the  slightest  alarm. 

"Jacques!"  she  cried.  "Where  is  Jacques?  What  has 
happened  to  my  boy  ?  " 

She  did  not  love  me ;  if  she  had  loved  me,  for  my  suffer- 
ings too,  she  would  not  have  uttered  this  cry  as  of  a  lioness 
in  despair. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse,  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  much  worse." 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  and  ran  off  with  me,  followed 
by  Madeleine. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  183 

"Come  after  me  slowly,"  said  she,  "that  the  dear  child 
may  not  overheat  herself.  You  see,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf's 
walk  in  this  heat  had  put  him  into  a  perspiration,  and  stand- 
ing in  the  shade  of  the  walnut  trees  may  bring  misfortune  on 
us." 

The  words  revealed  her  purity  of  mind.  The  Count's 
death  a  misfortune ! 

She  hurried  on  to  Clochegourde,  went  in  by  a  break  in  the 
wall  and  crossed  the  vineyard.  I  returned  as  slowly  as  she 
could  wish.  Henriette's  words  had  enlightened  me,  but  as 
the  lightning-flash  which  destroys  the  garnered  harvest.  Dur- 
ing that  hour  on  the  river  I  had  fancied  that  she  cared  most 
for  me  ;  I  now  felt  bitterly  that  her  words  were  perfectly  sin- 
cere. The  lover  who  is  not  all  in  all  is  nothing.  So  I  was 
alone  in  my  love  with  the  longing  of  a  passion  that  knows  all 
its  wants,  that  feeds  on  anticipation,  on  hoped-for  kindness, 
and  is  satisfied  with  the  joys  of  imagination,  because  it  con- 
founds with  them  those  it  looks  for  in  the  future.  If  Hen- 
riette  loved  me,  she  still  knew  nothing  of  the  joys  or  the 
storms  of  love.  She  lived  on  the  feeling  itself,  as  a  saint  is 
the  spouse  of  God. 

I  was  the  object  with  which  her  thoughts  were  bound  up, 
the  sensations  she  misunderstood,  as  a  swarm  of  bees  clings  to 
some  blossoming  bough  ;  but  I  was  not  the  element  of  life  to 
her,  only  an  adventitious  fact.  A  king  unthroned,  I  walked 
on,  wondering  who  should  restore  me  to  my  kingdom.  In 
my  crazy  jealousy  I  blamed  myself  for  never  having  greatly 
dared,  for  not  having  tightened  the  bonds  of  an  affection — 
which  now  seemed  to  me  refined  out  of  all  reality — by  the 
chains  of  self-evident  right  conferred  by  possession. 

The  Count's  indisposition,  caused  probably  by  a  chill  under 
the  walnut  tree,  in  a  few  hours  had  become  serious.  I  went 
off  to  Tours  to  fetch  a  physician  of  note,  Monsieur  Origet, 
whom  I  could  not  bring  back  till  the  evening;  but  he  spent 
the  night  and  the  next  day  at  Clochegourde.  Though  he  had 


184  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

sent  the  groom  to  fetch  a  large  number  of  leeches,  he  thought 
immediate  bleeding  necessary  and  had  no  lancet  with  him. 
I  rushed  off  to  Azay,  in  dreadful  weather ;  I  roused  Monsieur 
Deslandes  the  surgeon,  and  made  him  come  off  with  the  ra- 
pidity of  a  bird.  Ten  minutes  later  the  Count  would  have 
succumbed  ;  bleeding  saved  him. 

In  spite  of  this  first  triumph  the  doctor  pronounced  him  in 
a  dangerously  high  fever,  one  of  those  attacks  which  come  on 
people  who  have  ailed  nothing  for  over  twenty  years.  The 
Countess  was  overwhelmed  ;  she  believed  herself  to  be  the 
cause  of  this  disastrous  illness.  Unable  to  thank  me  for  what 
I  did  she  was  content  to  give  me  an  occasional  smile,  with  an 
expression  that  was  equivalent  to  the  kiss  she  had  pressed  on 
my  hand  ;  I  wished  I  could  read  in  it  the  remorse  of  an  illicit 
passion  ;  but  it  was  an  act  of  contrition,  painful  to  see  in  so 
pure  a  soul,  and  the  expression  of  admiring  affection  for  him 
whom  she  considered  noble,  while  she  accused  herself  alone 
of  an  imaginary  crime.  She  loved  indeed  as  Laura  de  Noves 
loved  Petrarch,  and  not  as  Francesca  da  Rimini  loved  Paolo 
— a  crushing  discovery  for  a  man  who  had  dreamed  of  the 
union  of  these  two  types  of  love.  The  Countess  was  reclin- 
ing, her  frame  exhausted,  her  arms  lying  limp,  in  a  dirty  arm- 
chair in  Count  Mortsaufs  room — a  place  that  reminded  me  of 
a  wild  boar's  den. 

Next  evening,  before  leaving,  the  doctor  told  the  Countess, 
who  had  watched  all  night,  that  she  must  send  for  a  nurse ; 
the  illness  would  be  long. 

"A  nurse!"  she  exclaimed.  "No,  no.  We  will  nurse 
him,"  she  added,  looking  at  me.  "  We  owe  it  to  ourselves 
to  save  him." 

At  these  words,  the  doctor  glanced  at  us  with  an  observing 
eye  full  of  astonishment.  The  expression  of  her  words  was 
enough  to  lead  him  to  suspect  some  crime  that  had  failed  in 
the  execution.  He  promised  to  come  twice  a  week,  suggested 
the  treatment  to  be  pursued  by  Monsieur  Deslandes,  and  de.- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  186 

scribed  the  alarming  symptoms  which  might  necessitate  his 
being  fetched  from  Tours. 

To  secure  the  Countess  at  least  one  night's  rest  out  of  two, 
I  proposed  that  she  should  allow  me  to  sit  up  with  the  Count 
in  turns  with  her ;  and  thus,  not  without  difficulty,  I  per- 
suaded her  to  go  to  bed  the  third  night.  When  all  was  still 
in  the  house,  during  a  minute  when  the  Count  was  dozing,  I 
heard  a  sigh  of  anguish  from  Henriette's  room.  My  anxiety 
was  so  keen  that  I  went  to  see  her ;  she  was  on  her  knees  be- 
fore her  pric-Dieu  (kneeling  bench)  in  tears  and  accusing  her- 
self: "Ah,  God!  if  this  is  the  price  of  a  murmur,"  she 
cried,  "  I  will  never  complain  again." 

"  You  have  left  him  !  "  she  exclaimed  as  she  saw  me. 

"  I  heard  you  wailing  and  moaning,  and  I  was  alarmed 
about  you." 

"  About  me?    Oh,  I  am  quite  well,"  she  said. 

She  wanted  to  be  sure  that  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  really 
asleep.  We  went  down  together,  and  by  the  light  of  a  lamp 
we  looked  at  him.  He  was  weakened  by  loss  of  blood  rather 
than  sleeping ;  his  restless  hands  were  trying  to  pull  the 
counterpane  up. 

"They  say  that  is  a  trick  of  the  dying,"  said  she.  "Oh, 
if  he  were  to  die  of  this  illness  brought  on  by  us,  I  would 
never  marry  again  ;  I  swear  it  !  "  she  went  on,  solemnly  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  over  the  Count's  head. 

"I  have  done  all  that  I  can  to  save  him,"  I  answered. 

"  You  !  Oh,  you  are  most  good  !  "  said  she.  "It  is  I — 
I  am  the  guilty  one." 

She  bent  down  over  the  puckered  brow,  wiped  away  the 
moisture  with  her  hair,  and  gave  it  a  sacred  kiss.  But  I  noted, 
not  without  secret  satisfaction,  that  she  bestowed  this  caress  as 
an  expiation. 

"  Blanche — some  drink,"  said  the  Count  in  a  feeble  voice. 

"  You  see,  he  only  recognizes  me,"  she  said  as  she  brought 
him  a  glass.  And  by  her  tone  and  her  affectionate  attentions 


186  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

to  him  she  tried  to  heap  insult  on  the  feelings  that  bound  us, 
immolating  them  to  the  sick  man. 

"  Henriette,"  said  I,  "go  and  take  some  rest,  I  entreat 
you." 

"  Henriette  no  more  !  "  she  said,  interrupting  me  with  im- 
perious haste. 

"Go  to  bed,  or  you  will  be  ill.  Your  children — he  him- 
self would  desire  you  to  spare  yourself.  There  are  times  when 
selfishness  is  a  sublime  virtue." 

"Yes,"  said  she. 

And  she  went,  urging  me  to  watch  her  husband,  by  gestures 
that  might  have  seemed  to  indicate  approaching  delirium  if 
the  grace  of  childhood  had  not  mingled  with  the  passionate 
entreaty  of  repentance. 

This  scene,  frightful  as  compared  with  the  usual  state  of  this 
placid  soul,  alarmed  me  ;  I  feared  the  extravagance  of  her  con- 
science. When  the  doctor  next  came,  I  explained  to  him  the 
scruples,  as  of  a  sacred  ermine,  that  were  tormenting  my 
spotless  Henriette.  This  confidence,  though  very  guarded, 
dispelled  Monsieur  Origet's  suspicions,  and  he  soothed  the 
terrors  of  that  sweet  soul  by  assuring  her  that,  from  whatever 
cause,  the  Count  must  have  had  this  violent  attack,  and  that 
the  chill  he  had  taken  under  the  walnut  tree  had  been  beneficial 
rather  than  injurious  by  bringing  it  on.  Thus  the  Countess 
felt  no  remorse. 

For  fifty-two  days  the  Count  hovered  between  life  and 
death.  Henriette  and  I  sat  up  with  him  in  turn,  each  for 
twenty-six  nights.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  undoubtedly  owed 
his  recovery  to  our  care,  and  the  scrupulous  exactitude  with 
which  we  carried  out  Monsieur  Origet's  instructions.  Like 
all  philosophical  doctors,  whose  shrewd  observation  justifies 
them  in  doubting  a  noble  action,  even  when  it  is  merely  the 
secret  fulfillment  of  a  duty,  this  man,  while  noticing  the  rivalry 
of  heroism  between  the  Countess  and  me,  could  not  help 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  187 

watching  us  with  inquisitive  eyes,  so  fearful  was  he  of  being 
cheated  of  his  admiration. 

"  In  such  a  case  as  this,"  said  he  on  the  occasion  of  his 
third  visit,  "  death  finds  a  ready  auxiliary  in  the  mind  when 
it  is  so  seriously  affected  as  that  of  the  Count.  The  doctor, 
the  nurse,  those  who  are  about  the  patient,  hold  his  life  in 
their  hands ;  for  a  single  word,  a  mere  gesture  of  apprehension, 
may  be  as  fatal  as  poison." 

As  he  spoke  thus  Origet  studied  my  face  and  my  expression ; 
but  he  read  in  my  eyes  the  sincerity  of  an  honest  soul.  For, 
indeed,  throughout  this  cruel  illness,  my  mind  was  never  once 
invaded  by  the  very  slightest  of  those  involuntary  evil  ideas 
which  sometimes  sear  the  most  innocent  conscience. 

For  those  who  contemplate  nature  as  a  whole,  everything 
tends  to  union  by  assimilation.  The  spiritual  world  must  be 
governed  by  an  analogous  principle.  In  a  pure  realm  all  is 
pure.  In  Henriette's  presence  there  was  a  fragrance  as  of 
heaven  itself;  it  seems  as  though  any  not  irreproachable 
thought  must  alienate  me  from  her  for  ever.  Hence  she  was 
not  only  my  happiness,  she  was  also  my  virtue.  Finding  us 
always  unfailingly  attentive  and  careful,  the  doctor  put  an 
indescribable  tone  of  pious  pathos  into  his  words  and  manner, 
as  if  he  were  thinking — "These  are  the  real  sufferers;  they 
hide  their  wounds  and  forgot  them." 

By  an  effect  of  contrast  which,  as  this  worthy  man  assured 
us,  is  common  enough  in  such  wrecks  of  manhood,  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  was  patient  and  tractable,  never  complained,  and 
showed  the  most  wonderful  docility — he  who  in  health  could 
not  do  the  least  thing  without  a  thousand  comments.  The 
secret  of  this  submission  to  medicinal  treatment,  formerly  so 
scouted,  was  a  covert  dread  of  death,  another  contrast  in  a 
man  of  unblemished  courage.  And  this  fear  may,  perhaps, 
account  for  various  singular  features  in  the  altered  temper  he 
owed  to  his  misfortunes. 

Shall  I  confess  to  you,  Natalie,  and  will  you  believe  me  ? 


188  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY, 

Those  fifty  days,  and  the  month  that  came  after,  were  the 
golden  days  of  my  life.  In  the  infinite  expanse  of  the  soul  is 
not  love  what,  in  a  broad  valley,  the  river  is  to  which  flow  all 
the  rains,  the  brooks  and  torrents,  into  which  are  borne  the 
trees  and  flowers,  the  gravel  of  its  banks,  and.  the  fragments 
of  the  higher  rocks ;  it  is  fed  alike  by  storms  and  by  the  slow 
tribute  of  rippling  springs.  Yes,  when  we  love,  everything 
feeds  love. 

The  first  great  danger  past,  the  Countess  and  I  became  ac- 
customed to  sickness.  In  spite  of  the  confusion  caused  by 
the  constant  care  needed  by  the  Count,  his  room,  which  we 
had  found  in  such  disorder,  was  made  neat  and  pretty.  Ere 
long  we  lived  there  like  two  beings  dropped  on  a  desert  island ; 
for  not  only  do  troubles  isolate  us,  but  they  silence  the  petty 
conventionality  of  the  world.  And  then  for  the  sick  man's 
benefit  we  were  forced  into  contact  such  as  no  other  event  could 
have  brought  about.  How  often  did  our  hands  meet,  hereto- 
fore so  shy,  in  doing  her  husband  some  service.  Was  it  not 
my  part  to  support  and  help  Henriette  ?  Carried  away  by  a 
duty  that  may  be  compared  with  that  of  a  soldier  at  an  out- 
post, she  would  often  forget  to  eat ;  then  I  would  bring  her 
food,  sometimes  on  her  knee — a  hasty  meal  necessitating  a 
hundred  little  services.  It  was  a  childish  scene  on  the  brink 
of  a  yawning  grave.  She  would  hastily  order  me  to  prepare 
what  might  save  the  Count  some  discomfort,  and  employ  me 
on  a  variety  of  trivial  tasks. 

In  the  early  days,  when  the  imminence  of  danger  stifled  the 
subtle  distinctions  of  ordinary  life,  as  on  the  field  of  battle, 
she  inevitably  neglected  the  reserve  which  every  woman,  even 
the  most  simple-minded,  maintains  in  her  speech,  looks,  and 
behavior  when  she  is  surrounded  by  the  world  or  by  her 
family,  but  which  is  incompatible  with  the  undress  of  in- 
timacy. Would  she  not  come  to  call  me  at  the  chirp  of  awak- 
ening birds  in  a  morning  wrapper  that  sometimes  allowed  me 
a  glimpse  of  the  dazzling  charms,  which,  in  my  wild  hopes,  I 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  189 

regarded  as  my  own  ?  Though  always  dignified  and  lofty, 
could  she  not  also  be  familiar?  And,  indeed,  during  the  first 
few  days,  that  danger  so  completely  eliminated  every  pas- 
sionate meaning  from  the  privacy  of  our  intimate  intercourse, 
that  she  thought  of  no  harm ;  and  afterward,  when  reflection 
came,  she  felt  perhaps  that  any  change  of  demeanor  would 
imply  an  insult  as  much  to  herself  as  to  me.  We  found  our- 
selves insensibly  familiarized,  half- wed,  as  it  were.  She  showed 
herself  nobly  confiding,  as  sure  of  me  as  of  herself.  Thus  I 
grew  more  deeply  into  her  heart. 

The  Countess  was  my  Henriette  once  more,  Henriette  con- 
strained to  love  me  yet  more,  as  I  strove  to  be  her  second  self. 
Ere  long,  I  never  had  to  wait  for  her  hand,  which  she  would 
give  me  irresistibly  at  the  least  beseeching  glance;  and  I 
could  study  with  delight  the  outliness  of  her  fine  figure  without 
her  shrinking  from  my  gaze,  during  the  long  hours  while  we 
sat  listening  to  the  patient's  slumbers.  The  slender  joys  we 
allowed  ourselves,  the  appealing  looks,  the  words  spoken  in  a 
whisper  not  to  awake  the  Count,  the  hopes  and  fears  repeated 
again  and  again,  in  short  the  myriad  details  of  this  fusion  of 
two  hearts  so  long  sundered,  stood  out  distinctly  against  the 
sad  gloom  of  the  real  scene  before  us?  We  read  each  other's 
souls  through  and  through  in  the  course  of  this  long  test,  to 
which  the  strongest  affections  sometimes  succumb,  unable  to 
withstand  the  familiarity  of  every  hour,  and  dropping  away 
after  testing  the  unyielding  cohesion  which  makes  life  so 
heavy  or  so  light  a  burden. 

You  know  what  mischief  comes  of  a  master's  long  illness, 
what  disorder  in  his  business;  there  is  never  time  for  any- 
thing ;  the  stoppage  put  to  his  life  hampers  the  movement  of 
the  house  and  family.  Though  everything  always  fell  on 
Madame  de  Mortsauf,  the  Count  was  of  use  on  the  estate ;  he 
went  to  talk  to  the  farmers,  he  called  on  the  business  agents, 
he  drew  the  rents ;  if  she  was  the  soul,  still  he  was  the  body. 
I  now  appointed  myself  steward  that  she  might  nurse  the 


190  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

Count  without  fear  of  ruin  out  of  doors.  She  accepted  every- 
thing without  apologies,  without  thanks.  This  partition  of 
household  cares  was  another  happy  community  of  interests, 
and  the  orders  I  gave  in  her  name.  In  her  room  in  the  even- 
ing we  often  discussed  the  children's  prospects.  These  con- 
versations lent  a  still  further  semblance  of  reality  to  our 
make-believe  married  life.  How  gladly  would  Henriette  lend 
herself  to  my  playing  the  master's  part,  putting  me  in  his 
place  at  table,  sending  me  to  speak  to  the  gamekeeper ;  and 
all  with  simple  innocence,  but  not  without  the  secret  pleasure 
which  the  most  virtuous  woman  on  earth  must  feel  at  finding 
a  middle  course  combining  strict  observation  of  every  law 
with  the  satisfaction  of  her  unconfessed  wishes.  The  Count, 
nullified  by  illness,  was  no  longer  a  weight  on  his  wife  or  on 
the  house  ;  and  now  the  Countess  was  herself,  she  had  a  right 
to  attend  to  me  and  make  me  the  object  of  endless  cares. 
What  joy  I  felt  on  discovering  in  her  a  purpose  of  which  she, 
perhaps,  was  but  vaguely  conscious,  though  it  was  exquisitely 
expressed — of  revealing  to  me  all  the  worth  of  her  person  and 
her  character,  of  making  me  feel  the  change  that  came  over 
her  when  she  felt  herself  understood  !  This  blossom,  con- 
stantly curled  up  in  th"e  cold  atmosphere  of  her  home,  un- 
folded before  my  eyes  and  for  me  alone ;  she  had  as  much 
delight  in  opening  as  I  had  in  looking  on  with  the  inquisitive 
eye  of  love. 

On  the  mornings  when  I  slept  late,  after  sitting  up  all 
night,  Henriette  was  up  before  any  one.  She  preserved  the 
most  perfect  silence ;  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  without  need- 
ing to  be  told,  went  away  to  play.  She  would  devise  endless 
wiles  to  lay  my  table  herself,  and  she  would  serve  my  break- 
fast with  such  a  sparkle  of  glee  in  every  movement,  with  such 
a  wild  swallow-like  precision,  with  such  a  color  in  her  cheeks, 
such  quaverings  in  her  voice,  such  a  lynx-like  keenness  of 
eye !  Can  such  expansions  of  the  soul  be  described  ?  She 
was  often  overpowered  by  fatigue ;  but  if  by  chance  at  one  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE   VALLEY.  191 

these  moments  I  needed  anything  she  found  fresh  strength 
for  me,  as  for  her  children  ;  she  started  up  active,  busy,  and 
glad.  She  loved  to  shed  her  tenderness  like  sunbeams  through 
the  air.  Yes,  Natalie,  some  women  here  below  enjoy  the 
privileges  of  angelic  spirits,  and,  like  them,  diffuse  the  light 
which  Saint-Martin,  the  unknown  philosopher,  tells  us  is  in- 
telligent, melodious,  and  fragrant. 

Henrietta,  secure  in  my  reticence,  rejoiced  in  lifting  the 
heavy  curtain  which  hid  the  future  from  us  by  showing  her- 
self to  me  as  two  women:  the  woman  in  bonds  who  had 
fascinated  me  in  spite  of  her  asperities ;  the  woman  freed, 
whose  sweetness  was  to  seal  my  love  to  eternity.  What  a  dif- 
ference !  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  a  love-bird  transported 
into  cold  Europe,  sadly  drooping  on  its  perch,  mute  and 
dying  in  the  cage  where  it  is  kept  by  some  naturalist ;  Hen- 
riette  was  the  bird  singing  its  Oriental  raptures  in  a  grove  on 
the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  and  flying  like  a  living  gem  from 
bough  to  bough  amid  the  rosy  flowers  of  an  ever-blooming 
Volkameria. 

Her  beauty  was  renewed,  her  spirit  revived.  These  con- 
stant fireworks  of  gladness  were  a  secret  between  our  two 
souls ;  for  to  the  Countess  the  eye  of  the  Abbe  de  Dominis, 
who  represented  the  world,  was  more  alarming  than  her  hus- 
band's. She,  like  me,  took  pleasure  in  giving  her  words 
ingenious  turns ;  she  hid  her  glee  under  a  jest  and  veiled  the 
evidences  of  her  affection  under  the  specious  flag  of  gratitude. 

"  We  have  put  your  friendship  to  the  severest  tests,  Felix," 
she  would  say  at  dinner.  "  We  may  surely  grant  him  such 
liberties  as  we  allow  to  Jacques,  Monsieur  1'Abbe?" 

The  austere  abb6  replied  with  the  kindly  smile  of  a  pious 
man  who  reads  "hearts  and  finds  them  pure ;  indeed,  he  always 
treated  the  Countess  with  the  respect  mingled  with  adoration 
that  we  feel  for  angels. 

Twice  in  those  fifty  days  the  Countess  went  perhaps  across 
the  border-line  that  limited  our  affection ;  but  those  two  occa- 


192  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

sions  were  shrouded  in  a  veil  that  was  not  lifted  till  our  day 
of  supreme  avowals.  One  morning,  in  the  early  days  of  the 
Count's  illness,  just  when  she  was  repenting  of  having  treated 
me  so  severely  by  denying  me  the  harmless  privileges  of  a 
chastened  affection,  I  sat  waiting  for  her  to  take  my  place.  I 
was  overtired,  and  fell  asleep,  my  head  resting  against  the 
wall.  I  awoke  with  a  start,  feeling  my  forehead  touched  by 
something  mysteriously  cool,  that  gave  me  a  sensation  as  if  a 
rose  had  lain  on  it.  I  saw  the  Countess  some  steps  away  from 
me,  saying — 

"Here  I  am!" 

I  went  away,  but,  as  I  wished  her  good-morning,  I  took 
her  hand  and  felt  that  it  was  moist  and  trembling. 

"  Are  you  ailing?  "  I  askfed. 

"Why  do  you  ask?  "  she  inquired.  I  looked  at  her, 
coloring  with  confusion. 

"  I  had  been  dreaming,"  I  answered. 

One  evening,  during  the  last  visits  paid  by  Origet,  who  had 
pronounced  the  Count  certainly  convalescent,  I  was  in  the 
garden  with  Jacques  and  Madeleine ;  we  were  all  three  lying 
on  the  steps  absorbed  in  a  game  of  jackstraws  that  we  had 
contrived  with  splinters  of  straw  and  hooks  made  of  pins. 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  was  asleep.  The  doctor,  while  waiting 
for  his  horse  to  be  put  to,  was  talking  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
Countess  in  the  drawing-room.  Monsieur  Origet  presently 
left  without  my  noticing  his  departure.  After  seeing  him  off, 
Henriette  leaned  against  the  window,  whence  she  looked  down 
on  us  for  a  long  time,  though  we  did  not  know  it.  It  was  one 
of  those  hot  evenings  when  the  sky  turns  to  copper  color, 
when  the  country  sends  out  a  thousand  confused  voices  to  the 
echoes.  A  last  gleam  of  sunshine  lingered  oh  the  roofs,  the 
flowers  of  the  garden  scented  the  air,  the  bells  of  the  cattle 
being  brought  home  to  the  byres  came  from  afar.  And  we, 
in  sympathy  with  the  stillness  of  this  calm  hour,  stifled  our 
laughter  for  fear  of  waking  the  Count. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  193 

Suddenly,  above  the  flutter  of  a  gown,  I  heard  the  guttural 
gasp  of  a  strongly  suppressed  sob ;  I  rushed  into  the  drawing- 
room,  I  found  the  Countess  sitting  in  the  window  recess,  her 
handkerchief  to  her  face  j  she  knew  my  step,  and,  by  an  im- 
perious gesture,  desired  me  to  leave  her  alone.  I  went  up  to 
her,  heartsick  with  alarm,  and  wanted  to  force  away  her 
handkerchief;  her  face  was  drowned  in  tears.  She  fled  to 
her  own  room,  and  did  not  come  out  till  it  was  time  for 
prayers.  For  the  first  time  in  those  fifty  days  I  led  her  to  the 
terrace,  and  asked  her  the  cause  of  her  agitation ;  but  she 
affected  the  most  flippant  cheerfulness,  justifying  it  by  Origet's 
good  news. 

"Henriette,  Henriette,"  said  I,  "you  knew  that  when  I 
found  you  crying.  Between  us  a  lie  is  preposterous.  Why 
would  you  not  allow  me  to  wipe  away  your  tears  ?  Can  they 
have  been  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  answered,  "that  to  me  this  illness 
has  been  a  respite  from  misery.  Now  that  there  is  nothing 
more  to  fear  for  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  I  must  fear  for  myself. ' ' 

She  was  right.  The  Count's  returning  health  was  marked 
by  his  grotesque  moods ;  he  began  to  declare  that  neither  his 
wife,  nor  I,  nor  the  doctor  knew  how  to  treat  him ;  we  were 
all  ignorant  of  his  complaint  and  of  his  constitution,  of  his 
sufferings,  and  of  the  suitable  remedies.  Origet,  infatuated 
by  heaven  knows  what  quackery,  thought  it  was  a  degeneracy 
of  the  secretions,  while  he  ought  only  to  have  studied  the  dis- 
order of  the  pylorus  ! 

One  day,  looking  at  us  mischievously,  like  a  man  who 
has  spied  out  or  guessed  something,  he  said  to  his  wife,  with 
a  smile — 

"  Well,  my  dear,  and  if  I  had  died — you  would  have  re- 
gretted me,  no  doubt,  but,  confess,  you  would  have  been 
resigned." 

"  I  should  have  worn  court  mourning,  red  and  black,"  she 
said,  laughing,  to  silence  him. 
13 


194  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

It  was  especially  with  regard  to  his  food,  which  the  doctor 
had  carefully  limited,  forbidding  that  the  patient's  craving 
should  be  satisfied,  that  we  had  the  most  violent  scenes  and 
outcries,  with  which  nothing  could  be  compared  in  the  past, 
for  the  Count's  temper  was  all  the  more  atrocious  for  having 
been  to  sleep,  so  to  speak.  Fortified  by  the  physician's  orders 
and  the  faithfulness  of  the  servants,  and  confirmed  by  me, 
for  I  saw  in  this  contest  a  way  of  teaching  her  to  govern 
her  husband,  the  Countess  was  resolute  in  her  resistance ;  she 
listened  with  a  calm  countenance  to  his  frenzy  and  scolding ; 
by  thinking  of  him  as  a  child — as  he  was — she  accustomed 
herself  to  hear  his  abusive  words.  Thus  at  last  I  was  so 
happy  as  to  see  her  assert  her  authority  over  this  disordered 
mind.  The  Count  called  out,  but  he  obeyed  ;  and  he  obeyed 
all  the  more  after  the  greatest  outcry. 

In  spite  of  the  evidence  of  the  results,  Henriette  would 
often  shed  tears  at  the  sight  of  this  feeble  and  haggard  old 
man,  his  forehead  yellower  than  a  falling  leaf,  his  eyes  dim, 
his  hands  tremulous ;  she  would  blame  herself  for  her  stern- 
ness and  could  seldom  resist  the  delight  she  saw  in  the  Count's 
eyes  when,  as  she  doled  out  his  meals,  she  exceeded  the  doc- 
tor's restrictions.  She  was  all  the  sweeter  and  milder  to  him 
for  having  been  so  to  me ;  still,  there  were  shades  of  differ- 
ence which  filled  my  heart  with  boundless  joy.  She  was  not 
indefatigable;  she  knew  when  to  call  the  servants  to  wait 
on  the  Count  if  his  whims  were  too  many  in  rapid  succession, 
and  he  began  to  complain  of  her  misunderstanding  him. 

The  Countess  purposed  an  act  of  thanksgiving  to  God  for 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf 's  recovery ;  she  commanded  a  special 
mass  and  bade  me  offer  her  my  arm  to  escort  her  to  church. 
I  did  her  bidding ;  but  during  the  service  I  went  to  call  on 
Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Chessel.  On  my  return  she  tried 
to  scold  me. 

"Henriette,"  said  I,  "I  am  incapable  of  deceit.  I  can 
throw  myself  into  the  water  to  rescue  my  enemy  when  he  is 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  195 

drowning,  I  can  lend  him  my  cloak  to  warm  him — in  short,  I 
can  forgive,  but  I  cannot  forget." 

She  said  nothing,  but  pressed  my  arm  to  her  heart. 

"  You  are  an  angel ;  you  were,  no  doubt,  sincere  in  your 
thanksgiving,"  I  went  on.  "The  mother  of  the  Prince  of 
the  Peace  was  snatched  from  the  hands  of  a  mob  who  wanted 
to  kill  her,  and  when  the  Queen  asked  her,  '  What  did  you 
do?' — 'I  prayed  for  them,'  she  said.  Women  are  all  like 
that ;  I  am  a  man,  and  necessarily  imperfect." 

"Do  not  slander  yourself,"  said  she,  shaking  my  arm 
sharply.  "  Perhaps  you  are  better  than  I  am." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "for  I  would  give  eternity  for  a  single 
day  of  happiness,  while  to  you  ! " 

"  Me!  "  she  cried,  with  a  haughty  glance. 

I  was  silent,  and  my  eyes  fell  under  the  lightning  of  her 
eyes. 

"  Me  !  "  she  went  on.  "  Of  what  me  are  you  speaking? 
There  are  in  me  many  mes.  Those  children,"  and  she 
pointed  to  Jacques  and  Madeleine,  "  are  part  of  me.  Felix," 
she  said  in  a  heart-rending  tone,  "do  you  think  me  selfish? 
Do  you  think  that  I  could  sacrifice  eternity  to  recompense 
him  who  is  sacrificing  this  life  for  me  ?  The  thought  is  a 
shocking  one  ;  it  is  contrary  to  every  sentiment  of  religion. 
Can  a  woman  who  falls  so  low  rise  again  ?  Can  her  happiness 
absolve  her  ?  You  will  drive  me  soon  to  decide  the  question ! 
Yes,  I  am  betraying  at  last  a  secret  of  my  conscience ;  the 
idea  has  often  crossed  my  mind,  I  have  expiated  it  by  bitter 
penance;  it  was  the  cause  of  the  tears  you  wanted  me  to 
account  for  the  other  day " 

"Are  you  not  attributing  too  great  importance  to  certain 
things  on  which  ordinary  women  set  a  high  value  and  which 
you  ought  to " 

"Oh,"  cried  she,  interrupting  me,  "do  you  value  them 
less?" 

Such  an  argument  put  an  end  to  all  reasoning. 


196  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"Well,"  she  went  on,  "  I  will  tell  you  !  Yes,  I  could  be 
so  mean  as  to  desert  the  poor  old  man  whose  life  is  in  my 
hands.  But,  dear  friend,  those  two  poor,  feeble  little  crea- 
tures you  see  before  us,  Jacques  and  Madeleine — would  not 
they  be  left  with  their  father  ?  And  do  you  think,  I  ask  you, 
do  you  believe  that  they  could  survive  three  months  under 
that  man's  insensate  tyranny?  If  by  failing  in  my  duty,  I 
alone" — she  smiled  loftily.  "But  should  I  not  be  killing 
my  two  children?  Their  doom  would  be  certain.  Great 
God  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "how  can  we  talk  of  such  things? 
Go  and  marry,  and  leave  me  to  die." 

She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  such  concentrated  bitterness  that 
she  stifled  the  outburst  of  my  passion. 

"You  cried  out  up  there,  under  the  walnut  tree.  I  have 
just  cried  out  here,  under  these  alders.  That  is  all.  Hence- 
forth I  am  silent." 

"Your  generosity  overwhelms  me,"  said  she,  looking  up  to 
heaven. 

We  had  by  this  time  reached  the  terrace  and  found  the 
Count  seated  there  in  a  chair,  in  the  sunshine.  The  sight  of 
that  sunken  face,  hardly  animated  by  a  faint  smile,  extin- 
guished the  flames  that  had  flared  up  from  the  ashes.  I  leaned 
against  the  parapet,  contemplating  the  picture  before  me :  the 
infirm  man  with  his  two  still  delicate  children  ;  his  wife,  pale 
with  watching  and  grown  thin  from  excess  of  work,  from  the 
alarms,  and  perhaps  from  the  joys,  of  these  two  dreadful 
months,  though  at  this  moment  she  was  deeply  flushed  from 
the  emotions  of  the  scene  she  had  gone  through.  At  the 
sight  of  this  suffering  'family,  shrouded  under  the  tremulous 
foliage  through  which  fell  the  gray  light  of  a  dull  autumn 
day,  I  felt  the  ties  relax  which  hold  body  and  soul  together. 
I  experienced  for  the  first  time  that  moral  revulsion  which,  it 
is  said,  the  stoutest  fighters  feel  in  the  fury  of  the  fray,  a  sort 
of  chilling  madness  that  makes  a  coward  of  the  bravest,  a 
bigot  of  a  disbeliever,  which  induces  total  indifference  to 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  197 

everything,  even  to  the  most  vital  sentiments — to  honor,  to 
love ;  for  doubt  robs  us  of  all  knowledge  of  ourselves,  and 
disgusts  us  with  life.  Poor  nervous  creatures,  who,  by  your 
high-strung  organization,  are  delivered  over  defenseless  to  I 
know  not  what  fatality,  who  shall  be  your  peers  and  judges? 
I  understood  how  the  bold  youth  who  had  erewhile  put  out 
a  hand  to  grasp  the  marshal's  baton,  who  had  been  no  less 
skilled  in  diplomacy  than  intrepid  as  a  captain,  had  become 
the  unconscious  murderer  I  saw  before  me  !  Could  my  own 
desires,  at  this  moment  wreathed  with  roses,  bring  me,  too,  to 
such  an  end  ?  Appalled  alike  by  the  cause  and  the  effect, 
asking,  like  the  impious,  where  in  all  this  was  providence,  I 
could  not  restrain  two  tears  that  fell  down  my  cheeks. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear,  good  F6lix  ?  "  asked  Madeleine 
in  her  childish  voice. 

Then  Henriette  dispelled  those  black  vapors  and  gloom  by 
an  anxious  look,  which  shone  on  my  soul  like  the  sun. 

At  this  moment  the  old  groom  from  Tours  brought  me  a 
letter,  at  the  sight  of  which  I  could  not  help  uttering  a  cry 
of  surprise,  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  trembled  at  my  dismay. 
I  saw  the  seal  of  the  cabinet.  The  King  ordered  me  back. 
I  held  the  letter  out  to  her ;  she  read  it  in  a  flash. 

"  He  is  going  away  !  "  said  the  Count. 

"What  will  become  of  me  ?  "  she  said  to  me,  for  the  first 
time  contemplating  her  desert  without  sunshine. 

We  paused  in  a  stupefied  frame  of  mind  which  oppressed 
us  all  equally,  for  we  had  never  before  so  acutely  felt  that  we 
were  all  indispensable  to  each  other.  The  Countess,  as  she 
talked  even  of  the  most  indifferent  matters,  spoke  in  an  altered 
voice,  as  though  the  instrument  had  lost  several  strings  and 
those  that  remained  were  loosened.  Her  movements  were 
apathetic,  her  looks  had  lost  their  light.  I  begged  her  to 
confide  her  thoughts  to  me. 

" Have  I  any  thoughts? "  said  she. 

She  led  me  away  to  her  room,  made  me  sit  down  on  the 


198  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

sofa,  hunted  in  the  drawer  of  her  dressing-table,  and,  then, 
kneeling  down  in  front  of  me,  she  said — 

"  Here  is  all  the  hair  I  have  lost  these  twelve  months  past; 
take  it — it  is  yours  by  right ;  you  will  some  day  know  how 
and  why." 

I  gently  bent  over  her,  she  did  not  shrink  to  avoid  my  lips, 
and  I  pressed  them  to  her  brow  solemnly,  with  no  guilty 
excitement,  no  inviting  passion.  Did  she  mean  to  sacrifice 
everything  ?  Or  had  she,  like  me,  only  come  to  look  over 
the  precipice  ?  If  love  had  prompted  her  to  abandon  herself, 
she  could  not  have  been  so  profoundly  calm,  have  given  me 
that  religious  look,  or  have  said  in  her  clear  voice — 

"You  have  quite  forgiven  me?" 

I  set  out  in  the  evening,  she  accompanied  me  on  the  road 
to  Frapesle,  and  we  stood  under  the  walnut  tree ;  I  pointed  it 
out  to  her,  telling  her  how  I  had  first  seen  it,  four  years  ago. 

"The  valley  was  so  lovely  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"And  now?"  she  said  eagerly. 

"  Now  you  are  under  the  tree,"  said  I ;  "  and  the  valley  is 
our  own." 

She  bent  her  head,  and  there  we  parted.  She  got  into  the 
carriage  again  with  Madeleine  and  I  into  mine,  alone. 

On  my  return  to  Paris,  I  was  fortunately  taken  up  by  a 
press  of  work  which  forcibly  diverted  my  mind,  and  obliged 
me  to  live  apart  from  the  world,  which  forgot  me.  I  corre- 
sponded with  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  to  whom  I  sent  my  journal 
every  week,  and  who  replied  twice  a  month.  It  was  an  ob- 
scure and  busy  life,  resembling  the  overgrown,  flowery  nooks, 
quite  unknown,  which  I  had  admired  in  the  depths  of  the 
woods  when  composing  fresh  poems  of  flowers  during  the  last 
fortnight. 

All  ye  who  love,  bind  yourselves  by  these  delightful  duties ; 
impose  a  rule  on  yourselves  to  be  carried  out,  as  the  church 
does  on  Christians  every  day. 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  199 

The  rigorous  observances  created  by  the  Roman  Catholic 
religion  are  a  grand  idea;  they  trace  deeper  and  deeper 
grooves  of  duty  in  the  soul  by  the  repetition  of  acts  which 
encourage  hope  and  fear.  The  feelings  always  flow,  a  living 
stream,  in  these  channels  which  keep  the  current  within 
bounds  and  purify  it,  perpetually  refreshing  the  heart  and 
fertilizing  life  by  the  abounding  treasures  of  hidden  faith,  a 
divine  spring  multiplying  the  single  thought  of  a  single  love. 

My  passion,  a  relic  of  the  Middle  Ages,  recalling  the  days 
of  chivalry,  became  known,  I  know  not  how;  perhaps  the 
King  and  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  spoke  of  it.  From  this 
uppermost  sphere,  the  story,  at  once  romantic  and  simple,  of 
a  young  man  piously  devoted  to  a  beautiful  woman  who  had 
no  public,  who  was  so  noble  in  her  solitude,  and  faithful 
without  the  support  of  duty,  no  doubt  became  known  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  I  fouud  myself  the  object  of  incon- 
venient attention  in  drawing-rooms,  for  an  inconspicuous  life 
has  advantages  which,  once  tasted,  make  the  parade  of  a  life 
in  public  unendurable.  Just  as  eyes  that  are  accustomed  to 
see  none  but  subdued  colors  are  hurt  by  broad  daylight,  so 
there  are  minds  averse  to  violent  contrasts.  I  was  then  one 
of  these ;  you  may  be  surprised  now  to  hear  it ;  but  have 
patience,  the  eccentricities  of  the  Vandenesse  you  know  will 
be  accounted  for. 

I  found  women  amiably  disposed  toward  me  and  the  world 
kind. 

After  the  Due  de  Berry's  marriage  the  court  became  splen- 
did once  more,  the  French  fetes  were  revived.  The  foreign 
occupation  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  prosperity  returned, 
amusements  were  possible.  Personages  of  illustrious  rank  or 
considerable  wealth  poured  in  from  every  part  of  Europe  to 
the  capital  of  intelligence,  where  all  the  advantages  and  the 
vices  of  other  countries  were  magnified  and  intensified  by 
French  ingenuity. 

Five  months  after  leaving  Clochegourde,  my  good  angel 


200  THE  LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

wrote  me  a  letter  in  despair,  telling  me  that  her  boy  had  had 
a  serious  illness,  from  which  he  had  recovered  indeed,  but 
which  had  left  her  in  dread  for  the  future ;  the  doctor  had 
spoken  of  care  being  needed  for  his  lungs — a  terrible  verdict 
that  casts  a  black  shadow  on  every  hour  of  a  mother's  life. 
Hardly  had  Henriette  drawn  a  breath  of  relief  as  Jacques  was 
convalescent,  before  his  sister  made  her  anxious.  Madeleine, 
the  pretty  flower  that  had  done  such  credit  to  her  mother's 
care,  went  through  an  illness  which,  though  not  serious,  was  a 
cause  of  anxiety  in  so  fragile  a  constitution. 

Crushed  already  by  the  fatigues  of  Jacques'  long  sickness, 
the  Countess  had  no  courage  to  meet  this  fresh  blow,  and  the 
sight  of  these  two  beloved  beings  made  her  insensible  to  the 
increasing  torment  of  her  husband's  temper.  Storms,  each 
blacker  than  the  last,  and  bringing  with  it  more  stones,  up- 
rooted by  their  cruel  surges  the  hopes  that  were  most  deeply 
rooted  in  her  heart.  Weary  of  strife  she  had  submitted  alto- 
gether to  the  Count's  tyranny,  for  he  had  regained  all  his  lost 
ground. 

"  When  all  my  strength  was  devoted  to  enfolding  my  chil- 
dren," she  wrote  me,  "could  I  use  it  to  defy  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf,  could  I  defend  myself  against  his  aggressions  when 
I  was  fighting  with  death  ?  As  I  make  my  onward  way,  alone 
and  feeble,  between  the  two  young,  melancholy  creatures  at 
my  side,  I  feel  an  invincible  disgust  of  life.  What  blow  can 
hurt  me,  or  what  affection  can  I  respond  to  when  I  see  Jacques 
motionless  on  the  terrace,  life  no  longer  beaming  in  anything 
but  his  beautiful  eyes,  made  larger  by  emaciation,  as  hollow 
as  an  old  man's,  and  where — fatal  prognostic — his  forward 
intelligence  is  contrasted  with  his  bodily  weakness?  When  I 
see  at  my  side  my  pretty  Madeleine  so  lively,  so  fond,  so 
brightly  colored,  now  as  pale  as  the  dead  ;  her  very  hair  and 
eyes  seem  to  me  more  pallid,  she  looks  at  me  with  languishing 
eyes  as  if  she  was  bidding  me  farewell.  No  food  tempts  her, 
or,  if  she  has  a  fancy  for  anything,  she  alarms  me  by  her 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  201 

strange  appetites  ;  the  innocent  child,  though  one  with  my 
heart,  blushes  as  she  confesses  to  them. 

"  Do  what  I  will,  I  cannot  amuse  my  children  ;  they  smile 
at  me,  but  the  smile  is  forced  from  them  by  my  playfulness 
and  is  not  spontaneous ;  they  cry  because  they  cannot  respond 
to  my  fondness.  Illness  has  left  them  completely  run  down, 
even  their  affection.  So  you  may  imagine  how  dismal  Cloche- 
gourde  is.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  reigns  unopposed. 

"Oh  my  glory,  my  dear  friend!"  she  wrote  me  again, 
"  you  must  love  me  well  indeed  if  you  can  love  me  still — 
can  love  me,  so  apathetic  as  I  am,  so  unresponsive,  so  petri- 
fied by  grief. ' ' 

At  this  juncture,  when  I  felt  myself  more  deeply  appealed 
to  than  ever,  when  I  lived  only  in  her  soul,  on  which  I  strove 
to  shed  the  luminous  breath  of  morning  and  the  hope  of  pur- 
pled evenings,  I  met,  in  the  rooms  of  the  Elysee  Bourbon, 
one  of  those  superb  English  ladies  who  are  almost  queens. 
Immensely  wealthy,  the  daughter  of  a  race  unstained  by  any 
mesalliance  since  the  time  of  the  Conquest,  married  to  an  old 
man,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  members  of  the  British 
peerage — all  these  advantages  were  no  more  than  accessories 
adding  to  her  beauty,  her  manners,  her  wit,  a  faceted  lustre 
that  dazzled  before  it  charmed  you.  She  was  the  idol  of  the 
day,  and  reigned  all  the  more  despotically  over  Paris  society 
because  she  had  the  qualities  indispensable  to  success,  the  iron 
hand  in  a  velvet  glove  spoken  of  by  Bernadotte. 

You  know  the  curious  individuality  of  the  English — the 
impassable  and  arrogant  channel,  the  icy  St.  George's  straits 
that  they  set  between  themselves  and  those  who  have  not 
been  introduced  to  them.  The  human  race  might  be  an 
ant-heap  on  which  they  tread ;  they  recognize  none  of  their 
species  but  those  whom  they  accept ;  they  do  not  understand 
the  language  even  of  the  rest ;  those  have  lips  that  move  and 
eyes  that  see ;  but  neither  voice  nor  looks  can  reach  so  high ; 
to  them  the  herd  are  as  though  they  were  not.  Thus  the 


202  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

English  are  an  image  of  their  island  where  the  law  rules 
everything ;  where  in  each  sphere  everything  is  uniform  ; 
where  the  practice  of  virtue  seems  to  be  the  inevitable  work- 
ing of  wheels  that  move  at  fixed  hours. 

These  fortifications  of  polished  steel  built  up  round  an 
Englishwoman,  caged  by  golden  wires  into  her  home,  where 
her  feeding  trough  and  drinking  cup,  her  perches  and  her 
food  are  all  perfection,  lend  her  irresistible  attractions. 
Never  did  a  nation  more  elaborately  scheme  for  the  hypocrisy 
of  a  married  woman  by  placing  her  always  midway  between 
social  life  and  death.  For  her  there  is  no  compromise  be- 
tween shame  and  honor ;  the  fall  is  utter,  or  there  is  no  slip ; 
it  is  all  or  nothing — the  To  be  or  not  to  be  of  Hamlet.  This 
alternative,  combined  with  the  habits  of  disdain  to  which 
manners  accustom  her,  makes  an  Englishwoman  a  creature 
apart  in  the  world.  She  is  but  a  poor  creature,  virtuous  per- 
force, and  ready  to  abandon  herself,  condemned  to  perpetual 
falsehood  buried  in  her  soul ;  but  she  is  enchanting  in  form, 
because  the  race  has  thrown  everything  into  form.  Hence 
the  beauties  peculiar  to  the  women  of  that  country:  the  exalt- 
ation of  an  affection  in  which  life  is  compulsorily  summed 
up,  their  extravagant  care  of  their  person,  the  refinement  of 
their  love — so  elegantly  expressed  in  the  famous  scene  in 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  in  which  Shakespeare  has  with  one  touch 
depicted  the  Englishwoman. 

To  you,  who  envy  them  so  many  things,  what  can  I  say 
that  you  do  not  know  about  these  fair  sirens,  apparently  im- 
penetrable but  so  quickly  known,  who  believe  that  love  is 
enough  for  love,  and  who  taint  their  pleasures  with  satiety  by 
never  varying  them,  whose  soul  has  but  one  note,  whose  voice 
but  one  word — an  ocean  of  love,  in  which,  if  a  man  has  not 
bathed,  he  will  for  ever  remain  ignorant  of  one  form  of  poetic 
sensuality,  just  as  a  man  who  has  never  seen  the  sea  must 
always  lack  certain  chords  to  his  lyre  ? 

You  know  the  purport  of  these  words.     My  acquaintance 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  203 

with  Lady  Dudley  was  notorious.  At  an  age  when  the  senses 
exert  their  greatest  power  over  our  decisions,  and  in  a  man 
whose  fires  had  been  so  violently  suppressed,  the  image  of  the 
saint  who  was  enduring  her  long  martyrdom  at  Clochegourde 
shone  so  brightly  that  he  could  resist  every  fascination.  This 
fidelity  was  the  distinction  that  won  me  Lady  Arabella's 
attention.  My  obstinacy  increased  her  passion.  What  she 
longed  for,  like  many  Englishwomen,  was  something  con- 
spicuous and  extraordinary.  She  craved  for  spice,  for  pepper 
on  which  to  feed  her  heart,  as  English  epicures  insist  on 
pungent  condiments  to  revive  their  palate.  The  lethargy 
produced  in  these  women's  lives  by  unfailing  perfection  in 
everything  about  them,  and  methodical  regularity  of  habits, 
reacts  in  a  worship  of  the  romantic  and  difficult.  I  was  inca- 
pable of  gauging  this  character.  The  more  I  retired  into  cold 
disdain,  the  more  eager  was  Lady  Dudley.  This  contest,  of 
which  she  boasted,  excited  some  curiosity  in  certain  drawing- 
rooms,  and  this  was  the  first  fruits  of  satisfaction  which  made 
her  feel  it  incumbent  on  her  to  triumph.  Ah  !  I  should  have 
been  saved  if  only  some  friend  had  repeated  the  odious  speech 
she  had  uttered  concerning  Madame  de  Mortsauf  and  me — 
" I  am  sick,"  she  said,  "of  this  turtle-dove  sighing !  " 
Though  I  have  no  wish  to  justify  my  crime,  I  must  point 
out  to  you,  Natalie,  that  a  man  has  less  chances  of  resisting  a 
woman  than  you  women  have  of  evading  our  pursuit.  Our 
manners  forbi'd  to  our  sex  those  tactics  of  stern  repression 
which  in  you  are  baits  to  tempt  the  lover,  and  which  indeed 
propriety  requires  of  you.  In  us,  on  the  contrary,  some  juris- 
prudence of  masculine  coxcombry  treats  reserve  as  ridiculous ; 
we  leave  you  the  monopoly  of  modesty  to  secure  to  you  the 
privilege  of  conferring  favors ;  but  reverse  the  parts,  and  a 
man  is  crushed  by  satire.  Protected  as  I  was  by  my  passion, 
I  was  not  at  an  age  to  be  insensible  to  the  threefold  attrac- 
tions of  pride,  devotion,  and  beauty.  When  Lady  Arabella 
laid  at  my  feet  the  homage  paid  to  her  at  a  ball  of  which  she 


204  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

was  the  queen,  when  she  watched  my  eye  to  read  whether  I 
admired  her  dress,  and  thrilled  with  pleasure  when  she  pleased 
me,  I  was  agitated  by  her  agitation.  She  stood  on  ground, 
too,  whence  I  could  not  fly :  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  refuse 
certain  invitations  in  the  diplomatic  circle;  her  rank  opened 
every  house  to  her ;  and  with  the  ingenuity  which  women 
can  display  to  obtain  the  thing  they  wish  for,  she  contrived 
at  table  that  the  mistress  of  the  house  should  seat  me  next  to 
her. 

Then  she  would  murmur  in  my  ear — 

"  If  I  were  loved  as  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is,  I  would  sacri- 
fice everything  to  you. ' '  She  proposed  the  humblest  condi- 
tions with  a  smile,  she  promised  uncompromising  reticence, 
or  besought  me  to  allow  her  only  to  love  me.  She  spoke 
these  words  to  me  one  day,  satisfying  alike  the  capitulation 
of  a  timid  conscience  and  the  unbridled  cravings  of  youth — 

"  Your  friend  for  ever,  and  your  mistress  when  you  please  !" 

Finally  she  resolved  to  make  my  sense  of  honor  the  means 
to  my  ruin;  she  bribed  my  manservant;  and  one  evening, 
after  a  party  where  she  had  shone  with  such  beauty  that  she 
was  sure  of  having  captivated  me,  I  found  her  in  my  rooms. 
This  scandal  was  heard  of  in  England,  where  the  aristocracy 
was  in  as  much  consternation  as  heaven  at  the  fall  of  its 
highest  angel.  Lady  Dudley  came  down  from  her  clouds  in 
the  British  empyrean,  kept  nothing  but  her  own  fortune,  and 
tried  by  self-sacrifice  to  eclipse  the  woman  whose  virtue  had 
led  to  this  celebrated  scandal.  Lady  Arabella,  like  the  devil 
on  the  pinnacle  of  the  temple,  took  pleasure  in  showing  me 
the  richest  kingdoms  of  her  ardent  world. 

Read  my  confession,  I  beseech  you,  with  indulgence.  It 
deals  with  one  of  the  most  interesting  problems  of  human 
life,  with  a  crisis  through  which  the  greater  portion  of  man- 
kind must  pass,  and  which  I  long  to  account  for,  if  it  were 
only  to  light  a  beacon  on  the  reef.  This  beautiful  English 
lady,  so  slender,  so  fragile ;  this  milk-white  woman,  so  crushed, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  205 

so  breakable,  so  meek,  with  her  refined  brow  crowned  with 
such  soft  tan-brown  hair ;  this  creature,  whose  brilliancy  seems 
but  a  transient  phosphorescence,  has  a  frame  of  iron.  No 
horse,  however  fiery,  can  defy  her  sinewy  wrist,  her  hand 
that  seems  so  weak,  and  that  nothing  can  tire.  She  has  the 
foot  of  the  roe,  a  small,  wiry,  muscular  foot  of  indescribable 
beauty  of  form.  Her  strength  fears  no  rivalry ;  no  man  can 
keep  up  with  her  on  horseback  ;  she  would  win  a  steeplechase 
riding  a  centaur  ;  she  shoots  stags,  and  does  it  without  check- 
ing her  horse.  Her  frame  knows  not  perspiration ;  it  radiates 
a  glow  in  the  air,  and  lives  in  water,  or  it  would  perish. 

Her  passion  is  quite  African ;  her  demands  are  a  tornado 
like  the  sand-spouts  of  the  desert — the  desert  whose  burning 
vastness  is  to  be  seen  in  her  eyes,  the  desert  all  azure  and 
love,  with  its  unchanging  sky  and  its  cool,  star-lit  nights. 

What  a  contrast  to  Clochegourde  !  The  East  and  the 
West ;  one  attracting  to  herself  the  smallest  atoms  of  moisture 
to  nourish  her  ;  the  other  exhaling  her  soul,  enveloping  all 
who  were  faithful  to  her  in  a  luminous  atmosphere.  This  one 
eager  and  slight ;  the  other  calm  and  solid. 

Tell  me,  have  you  ever  duly  considered  the  general  bearing 
of  English  habits  ?  Are  they  not  the  apotheosis  of  matter,  a 
definite,  premeditated,  and  skillfully  adapted  epicureanism? 
Whatever  she  may  do  or  say,  England  is  materialist — uncon- 
sciously perhaps.  She  has  religious  and  moral  pretensions 
from  which  the  divine  spirituality,  the  soul  of  Catholicism,  is 
absent ;  its  fruitful  grace  can  never  be  replaced  by  any  hypoc- 
risy, however  well  acted.  She  possesses  in  the  highest  degree 
the  science  of  life,  which  adds  a  grace  to  the  smallest  details 
of  materialism  :  which  makes  your  slipper  the  most  exquisite 
slipper  in  the  world  ;  which  gives  your  linen  an  indescribable 
fragrance ;  which  lines  and  perfumes  your  drawers  with  cedar ; 
which  pours  out  at  a  fixed  hour  a  delicious  cup  of  tea,  scien- 
tifically infused  ;  which  banishes  dust,  and  nails  down  carpets 
from  the  very  doorstep  to  the  inmost  nook  of  the  house ; 


206  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

which  washes  the  cellar  walls,  polishes  the  door  knocker, 
gives  elasticity  to  the  springs  of  a  carriage ;  which  turns  all 
matter  into  a  nutritious  pulp,  a  comfortable,  lustrous,  and 
cleanly  medium  in  the  midst  of  which  the  soul  expires  in  en- 
joyment and  which  produces  a  terrible  monotony  of  ease ; 
which  results  in  a  life  uncrossed  and  devoid  of  initiative ; 
which,  in  one  word,  makes  a  machine  of  you. 

Thus  I  came  suddenly,  in  the  heart  of  this  English  luxury, 
on  a  woman  perhaps  unique  of  her  sex,  who  entangled  me 
in  the  meshes  of  that  love  born  anew  from  its  death,  whose 
prodigality  I  met  with  severe  austerity — that  love  which  has 
overpowering  charms  and  an  electricity  of  its  own,  which  often 
leads  you  to  heaven  through  the  ivory  gates  of  its  half-slum- 
bers, or  carries  you  up  mounted  behind  its  winged  shoulders. 
A  horribly  graceless  love  that  laughs  at  the  corpses  of  those 
it  has  slain ;  love  devoid  of  memory,  a  cruel  love,  like  English 
politics,  and  to  which  almost  every  man  succumbs. 

You  understand  the  problem  now.  Man  is  composed  of 
matter  and  spirit.  In  him  the  animal  nature  culminates  and 
the  angel  begins.  Hence  the  conflict  we  all  have  felt  be- 
tween a  future  destiny  of  which  we  have  presentiments  and 
the  memories  of  our  original  instincts  from  which  we  are  not 
wholly  detached — the  love  of  the  flesh  and  the  love  that  is 
divine.  One  man  amalgamates  the  two  in  one ;  another 
abstains.  This  one  seeks  the  whole  sex  through,  to  satisfy 
his  anterior  appetites;  that  one  idealizes  it  in  a  single  woman, 
who  to  him  epitomizes  the  universe.  Some  hover  undecided 
between  the  raptures  of  matter  and  those  of  the  spirit ;  others 
spiritualize  the  flesh  and  ask  of  it  what  it  can  never  give.  If, 
considering  these  general  features  of  love,  you  take  into  ac- 
count the  repulsions  and  the  affinities  which,  being  the  out- 
come of  diversity  of  constitution,  presently  break  the  bonds 
between  those  who  have  not  tested  each  other ;  if  you  add  to 
this  the  errors  resulting  from  the  hopes  of  those  who  live 
more  especially  by  the  mind,  by  the  heart,  or  by  action — who 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  207 

think,  or  feel,  or  act — and  whose  vocation  is  cheated  or  mis- 
prized in  an  association  of  two  human  beings,  each  equally 
complex,  you  will  be  largely  indulgent  to  some  misfortunes 
to  which  society  is  pitiless. 

Well,  Lady  Arabella  satisfies  the  instincts,  the  organs,  the 
appetites,  the  vices,  and  the  virtues  of  the  subtle  matter  of 
which  we  are  compounded ;  she  was  the  mistress  of  my  body. 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  the  wife  of  my  soul.  The  love 
the  mistress  could  satisfy  has  it  limits;  matter  is  finite,  its 
properties  have  recognized  forces,  it  is  liable  to  inevitable 
saturation ;  I  often  felt  an  indescribable  void  in  Paris  with 
Lady  Dudley.  Infinity  is  the  realm  of  the  heart ;  love  un- 
bounded was  at  Clochegourde.  I  was  passionately  in  love 
with  Lady  Arabella,  and  certainly,  though  the  animal  in  her 
was  supreme,  she  had  also  a  superior  intelligence ;  her  ironi- 
cal conversation  embraced  everything. 

But  I  worshiped  Henriette.  If  at  night  I  wept  with  joy, 
in  the  morning  I  wept  with  remorse.  There  are  some  women 
shrewd  enough  to  conceal  their  jealousy  under  angelic  sweet- 
ness ;  these  are  women  who,  like  Lady  Dudley,  are  past  thirty. 
Women  then  know  how  to  feel  and  calculate  both  at  once ; 
they  squeeze  out  the  juice  of  the  present  and  yet  think  of  the 
future  ;  they  can  stifle  their  often  quite  justifiable  groans  with 
the  determination  of  a  hunter  who  does  not  feel  a  wound  as 
he  rides  in  pursuit  of  the  bugle  call. 

Without  ever  speaking  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  Arabella 
tried  to  kill  her  in  my  soul,  where  she  constantly  found  her, 
and  her"  own  passion  flamed  higher  under  the  breath  of  this 
ineradicable  love.  To  triumph,  if  possible,  by  comparisons 
to  her  own  advantage,  she  would  never  be  suspicious,  nor 
provoking,  nor  curious,  as  most  young  women  are  ;  but,  like 
a  lioness  that*  has  carried  her  prey  in  her  mouth  and  brought 
it  to  her  den  to  devour,  she  took  care  that  nothing  should  dis- 
turb her  happiness  and  watched  me  like  an  unsubdued  con- 
quest. I  wrote  to  Henriette  under  her  very  eyes,  she  never 


208  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEV. 

read  a  single  line,  she  never  made  the  least  attempt  to  know 
the  address  on  my  letters.  I  was  perfectly  free.  She  seemed 
to  have  said  to  herself,  "  If  I  lose,  I  shall  blame  no  one  but 
myself." 

And  she  trusted  proudly  to  a  love  so  devoted  that  she  would 
have  laid  down  her  life  without  hesitation  if  I  had  asked  it 
of  her.  In  fact,  she  made  me  believe  that  if  I  should  aban- 
don her  she  would  at  once  kill  herself. 

It  was  a  thing  to  hear  when  she  sang  the  praises  of  the 
Indian  custom  for  widows  to  burn  themselves  on  their  hus- 
band's funeral  pyre. 

"  Though  in  India  the  practice  is  a  distinction  reserved  to 
the  higher  castes,  and  is  consequently  little  appreciated  by 
Europeans,  who  are  incapable  of  perceiving  the  proud  dignity 
of  the  privilege,  you  must  confess,"  she  would  say  to  me, 
"that  in  the  dead  level  of  our  modern  manners  the  aristoc- 
racy cannot  resume  its  place  unless  by  exceptional  feelings. 
How  can  I  show  the  middle-class  that  the  blood  flowing  in 
my  veins  is  not  the  same  as  theirs,  if  not  in  dying  in  another 
way  than  they  die  ?  Women  of  no  birth  can  have  diamonds, 
silks,  horses,  even  coats-of-arms,  which  ought  to  be  ours 
alone,  for  a  name  can  be  purchased  !  But  to  love,  unabashed, 
in  opposition  to  the  law,  to  die  for  the  idol  she  has  chosen, 
and  make  a  shroud  of  the  sheets  off  her  bed  to  bring  earth  and 
heaven  into  subjection  to  a  man  and  thus  rob  the  Almighty  of 
His  right  to  make  a  god,  never  to  be  false  to  him,  not  even 
for  virtue's  sake — for  to  refuse  him  anything  in  the  name  of 
duty  is  to  abandon  one's  self  to  something  that  is  not  he — 
whether  it  be  another  man  or  a  mere  idea,  it  is  a  betrayal ! 
These  are  the  heights  to  which  vulgar  women  cannot  rise; 
they  know  only  two  roads — the  highway  of  virtue  or  the  miry 
path  of  the  courtesan." 

She  argued,  you  see,  from  pride  ;  she  flattered  all  my  van- 
ities by  deifying  them  ;  she  set  me  so  high  that  she  could  only 
reach  to  my  knees ;  all  the  fascinations  of  her  mind  found 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  209 

expression  in  her  slave-like  attitude  and  absolute  submission. 
She  would  remain  a  whole  day  lounging  at  my  feet  in  silence, 
gazing  at  me,  waiting  on  my  pleasure  like  a  seraglio  slave. 
What  words  can  describe  the  first  six  months  when  I  gave 
myself  up  to  the  enervating  joys  of  an  affection  full  of  rap- 
tures varied  by  the  knowledge  of  experience  that  was  con- 
cealed under  the  vehemence  of  passion.  Such  joys,  a  revela- 
tion of  the  poetry  of  the  senses,  constitute  the  strong  link 
that  binds  young  men  to  women  older  than  themselves ;  but 
this  link  is  the  convict's  chain  ;  it  leaves  an  indelible  scar, 
implanting  a  premature  distaste  for  fresh  and  innocent  love 
rich  in  blossom  only,  which  cannot  serve  us  with  alcohol  in 
curiously  chased  golden  cups,  enriched  with  precious  stones, 
sparkling  with  inexhaustible  fires. 

When  I  tasted  the  enjoyments  of  which  I  had  dreamed, 
knowing  nothing  of  them,  which  I  had  expressed  in  my  nose- 
gays, and  which  the  union  of  souls  makes  a  thousand  times 
more  intense,  I  found  no  lack  of  paradoxes  to  justify  myself 
in  my  own  eyes  for  the  readiness  with  which  I  slaked  my 
thirst  at  this  elegant  cup.  Often  when  I  felt  lost  in  immeas- 
urable lassitude,  my  soul,  freed  from  my  body,  flew  far  from 
earth,  and  I  fancied  that  such  pleasures  were  a  means  of  anni- 
hilating matter  and  freeing  the  spirit  for  its  sublimest  flights. 
Not  un frequently  Lady  Dudley,  like  many  another  woman, 
took  advantage  of  the  excitement  superinduced  by  excessive 
happiness  to  bind  me  by  solemn  vows ;  and  she  could  even 
tempt  me  into  blaspheming  and  denouncing  the  angel  at 
Clochegourde. 

Being  a  traitor,  I  became  a  cheat.  I  wrote  to  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  as  though  I  were  still  the  boy  in  the  ill-made  blue 
coat  of  whom  she  was  so  fond  ;  but,  I  own,  her  gift  of  second- 
sight  appalled  me  when  I  thought  of  the  disaster  any  indis- 
cretion might  bring  on  the  charming  castle  of  my  hopes. 
Often  in  the  midst  of  my  happiness  a  sudden  pang  froze  me ; 
I  heard  the  name  of  Henriette  spoken  by  a  voice  from  on 
14 


210  THE  LILY  OP  THE    VALLEY. 

high,  like  the  "  Cain,  where  is  Abel?"  of  the  Scripture  nar- 
rative. 

My  letters  remained  unanswered.  I  was  in  mortal  anxiety 
and  wanted  to  set  out  for  Clochegourde.  Arabella  raised  no 
obstacles,  but  she  spoke  as  a  matter  of  course  of  going  with 
me  to  Touraine.  Her  fancy,  spurred  by  difficulty,  her  pre- 
sentiments, justified  by  more  happiness  than  she  had  hoped 
for,  had  given  birth  in  her  to  a  real  affection,  which  she  now 
meant  should  be  unique.  Her  womanly  wit  showed  her  that 
this  journey  might  be  made  a  means  of  detaching  me  com- 
pletely from  Madame  de  Mortsauf ;  and  I,  blinded  by  alarm 
and  misled  by  genuine  guilelessness,  did  not  see  the  snare  in 
which  I  was  to  be  caught. 

Lady  Dudley  proposed  the  fullest  concessions,  and  antici- 
pated every  objection.  She  agreed  to  remain  in  the  country 
near  Tours,  unknown,  disguised,  never  to  go  out  by  daylight, 
and  to  choose  for  our  meetings  an  hour  of  the  night  when  no 
one  could  recognize  us. 

I  started  on  horseback  from  Tours  for  Clochegourde.  I 
had  my  reasons  for  this ;  I  needed  a  horse  for  my  nocturnal 
expeditions,  and  I  had  an  Arab,  sent  to  the  Marchioness  by 
Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  which  I  had  taken  in  exchange  for  the 
fahious  picture  by  Rembrandt  now  hanging  in  her  drawing- 
room  in  London,  after  it  had  come  into  my  hands  in  so  sin- 
gular a  way. 

I  took  the  road  I  had  gone  on  foot  six  years  before,  and 
paused  under  the  walnut  tree.  From  thence  I  saw  Madame 
de  Mortsauf,  in  a  white  dress,  on  the  terrace.  I  flew  toward 
her  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was 
below  the  wall,  traversing  the  distance  in  a  direct  line,  as  if  I 
was  riding  a  steeplechase.  She  heard  the  prodigious  leaps 
of  the  Swallow  of  the  Desert ;  and  when  I  pulled  up  sharp  at 
the  corner  of  the  terrace,  she  said,  "  Ah  !  Here  you  are  !  " 

These  four  words  struck  me  dumb.     Then'she  knew  of  my 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  211 

adventure  !  Who  had  told  her  of  it  ?  Her  mother,  whose 
odious  letter  she  subsequently  showed  me.  The  indifference 
of  that  weak  voice,  formerly  so  full  of  vitality — the  dead, 
colorless  tone  confessed  a  mature  sorrow  and  breathed,  as  it 
were,  a  perfume  of  flowers  cut  off  beyond  all  recovery.  The 
tempest  of  my  infidelity,  like  the  floods  of  the  Loire  that  bury 
the  land  past  redemption  in  sand,  had  passed  over  her  soul 
and  made  a  desert  where  rich  meadows  had  been  green.  I 
led  my  horse  in  by  the  side-gate ;  he  knelt  down  on  the  grass 
at  my  command ;  and  the  Countess,  who  had  come  forward 
with  a  slow  step,  exclaimed,  "  What  a  beautiful  creature !  " 

She  stood  with  her  arms  crossed  that  I  might  not  take  her 
hand,  and  I  understood  her  intention. 

"I  will  go  and  tell  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,"  said  she,  and 
turned  away. 

I  remained  standing,  quite  confounded,  letting  her  go, 
watching  her — noble,  deliberate,  and  proud  as  ever ;  whiter 
than  I  had  ever  seen  her,  her  brow  stamped  with  the  yellow 
seal  of  the  bitterest  melancholy,  and  hanging  her  head  like  a 
lily  weighed  down  by  too  much  rain. 

"  Henriette  !  "  I  cried,  with  the  passion  of  a  man  who  feels 
himself  dying. 

She  did  not  turn  round,  she  did  not  pause ;  she  scorned  to 
tell  me  that  she  had  taken  back  that  name,  that  she  would  no 
longer  answer  to  it ;  she  walked  on.  In  that  terrible  valley 
where  millions  of  men  must  be  lying  turned  to  dust,  while 
their  souls  now  animate  the  surface  of  the  globe,  I  may  find 
myself  very  small  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  closely  packed 
under  the  luminous  dignities  who  shall  light  it  up  with  their 
glory;  but  even  there  I  shall  be  less  utterly  crushed  than  I 
was  as  I  gazed  at  that  white  figure  going  up,  up — as  an  un- 
deviating  flood  mounts  the  streets  of  a  town — up  to  Cloche- 
gourde,  her  home,  the  glory  and  the  martyrdom  of  this  Chris- 
tian Dido  ! 

I  cursed  Arabella  in  one  word  that  would  have  killed  her 


212  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

had  she  heard  it — and  she  had  given  up  everything  for  me,  as 
we  leave  all  for  God !  I  stood  lost  in  an  ocean  of  thought, 
seeing  endless  pain  on  every  side  of  me. 

Then  I  saw  them  all  coming  down  ;  Jacques  running  with 
the  impetuosity  of  his  age ;  Madeleine,  a  gazelle  with  pathetic 
eyes,  followed  with  her  mother.  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  came 
toward  me  with  open  arms,  clasped  me  to  him,  and  kissed  me 
on  both  cheeks,  saying,  "  Felix,  I  have  heard — I  owed  my 
life  to  you  !  " 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  stood  with  her  back  to  us,  under  pre- 
tense of  showing  the  horse  to  Madeleine,  who  was  amazed. 

"  The  devil !  "  cried  the  Count  in  a  fury,  "  that  is  a  woman 
all  over !  They  are  looking  at  your  horse." 

Madeleine  turned  and  came  to  me.  I  kissed  her  hand, 
looking  at  the  Countess,  who  reddened. 

"  Madeleine  seems  much  better,"  said  I. 

"  Poor  little  girl !  "  replied  the  Countess,  kissing  her  fore- 
head. 

"  Yes,  for  the  moment  they  are  all  well,"  said  the  Count. 
"  I  alone,  my  dear  Felix,  am  a  wreck,  like  an  old  tower  about 
to  fall." 

"  The  general  still  suffers  from  his  black  dragons,  it  would 
seem,"  said  I,  looking  at  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

"We  all  have  our  blue  devils,"  she  replied.  "That,  I 
think,  is  the  English  word  ! ' ' 

We  went  up  to  the  house,  all  walking  together,  all  feeling 
that  something  serious  had  happened.  She  had  no  wish  to  be 
alone  with  me ;  in  short,  I  was  a  visitor. 

"By  the  way,  what  about  your  horse?"  said  the  Count, 
when  we  went  out. 

*'  You  see,"  retorted  the  Countess,  "  I  was  wrong  to  think 
about  it,  and  equally  wrong  not  to  think  about  it." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  he;  "  there  is  a  time  for  everything." 

"  I  will  go  to  him,"  said  I,  finding  this  cold  reception  un- 
endurable. "  I  alone  can  unsaddle  him  and  put  him  up 


THE    LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  213 

properly.  My  groom  is  coming  from  Chinon  by  coach,  and 
he  will  rub  him  down." 

"  Is  the  groom  from  England  too?  "  said  she. 

"  They  are  only  made  there,"  replied  the  Count,  becoming 
cheerful  as  he  saw  his  wife  depressed. 

His  wife's  coolness  was  an  opportunity  for  tacit  opposition ; 
he  loaded  me  with  kindness.  I  learned  what  a  burden  a  hus- 
band's friendship  can  be.  Do  not  suppose  that  it  is  when  the 
wife  lavishes  an  affection  of  which  he  seems  to  be  robbed, 
that  her  husband's  attentions  are  overpowering  to  a  noble 
soul !  No.  It  is  when  that  love  has  fled  that  they  are  odious 
and  unendurable.  A  friendly  understanding,  which  is  the 
indispensable  condition  of  such  attachments,  is  then  seen  as 
a  mere  means ;  it  then  is  a  burden,  and  as  horrible  as  all 
means  are  when  no  longer  justified  by  the  ends. 

"  My  dear  Felix,"  said  the  Count,  taking  my  hands,  and 
pressing  them  affectionately,  "  you  must  forgive  Madame  de 
Mortsauf.  Women  must  be  fractious,  their  weakness  is  their 
excuse ;  they  cannot  possibly  have  the  equable  temper  which 
gives  us  strength  of  character.  She  has  the  greatest  regard 
for  you.  I  know  it ;  but " 

While  the  Count  was  speaking,  Madame  de  Mortsauf  moved 
gradually  away  from  us  so  as  to  leave  us  together. 

"  Felix,"  said  he  in  an  undertone,  as  he  looked  at  his  wife 
returning  to  the  house  with  her  two  children,  "  I  cannot 
think  what  has  been  going  on  in  Madame  de  Mortsauf  s 
mind,  but  within  the  last  six  weeks  her  temper  has  com- 
pletely altered.  She  who  used  to  be  so  gentle,  so  devoted, 
has  become  incredibly  sulky." 

Manette  afterward  told  me  that  the  Countess  had  fallen 
into  a  state  of  dejection  which  left  her  insensible  to  the 
Count's  aggravations.  Finding  no  tender  spot  into  which  to 
thrust  his  darts,  the  man  had  become  as  fidgety  as  a  boy  when 
the  insect  he  is  torturing  ceases  to  wriggle.  At  this  moment 
he  needed  a  confidant,  as  an  executioner  needs  a  mate, 


214  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"Try  to  question  Madame  de  Mortsauf,"  he  went  on  after 
a  pause.  "A  woman  always  has  secrets  from  her  husband, 
but  to  you  she  will  perhaps  confide  the  secret  of  her  trouble. 
If  it  should  cost  me  half  my  remaining  days  of  life  and  half 
my  fortune,  I  would  sacrifice  everything  to  make  her  happy. 
She  is  so  indispensable  to  my  existence.  If  in  my  old  age  I 
should  miss  that  angel  from  my  side,  I  should  be  the  most 
miserable  of  men  !  I  would  hope  to  die  easy.  Tell  her  she 
will  not  have  to  put  up  with  me  for  long.  I,  Felix,  my  poor 
friend — I  am  going  fast ;  I  know  it.  I  hide  the  dreadful 
truth  from  all  the  world  ;  why  distress  them  before  the  time  ? 
Still  the  pylorus,  my  good  friend.  I  have  at  last  mastered 
the  causes  of  the  malady:  my  sensitive  feelings  are  surely 
killing  me.  In  fact,  all  our  emotions  converge  on  the  gastric 
centre " 

"So  that  people  of  strong  feeling  die  of  indigestion,"  said 
I  with  a  smile. 

"  Do  not  laugh,  Felix ;  nothing  is  truer.  Too  great  a  grief 
overexcites  the  great  sympathetic  nerve.  This  excessive 
sensibility  keeps  up  a  constant  irritation  of  the  mucous  mem- 
brane of  the  stomach.  If  this  condition  continues  it  leads 
to  disturbance  of  the  digestive  functions,  at  first  impercepti- 
ble; the  secretions  are  vitiated,  the  appetite  is  morbid,  and 
digestion  becomes  uncertain  ;  ere  long  acute  suffering  super- 
venes, worse  and  more  frequent  every  day.  Finally  the 
organic  mischief  reaches  a  climax;  it  is  as  though  some 
poison  were  lurking  in  every  bowl.  The  mucous  membrane 
thickens,  the  valve  of  the  pylorus  hardens,  and  a  scirrhus 
forms  there  of  which  the  patient  must  die.  Well,  that  is  my 
case,  my  dear  boy.  The  induration  is  progressing ;  nothing 
can  stop  it.  Look  at  my  straw-colored  skin,  my  dry,  bright 
eye,  my  excessive  emaciation?  I  am  withering  up.  What 
can  you  expect  ?  I  brought  the  germ  of  the  complaint  in  me 
from  exile  :  I  went  through  so  much  at  that  time. 

"And  my  marriage,  which  might  have  repaired  the  mis- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  215 

chief  done  during  the  emigration,  far  from  soothing  my  ulcer- 
ated soul,  only  reopened  the  wound.  What  have  I  found 
here  ?  Eternal  alarms  on  account  of  my  children,  domestic 
trials,  a  fortune  to  be  patched  up,  economy  which  entailed  a 
thousand  privations  I  had  to  inflict  on  my  wife,  while  I  was 
the  first  to  suffer  from  them. 

"And,  above  all,  to  you  alone  can  I  confide  the  secret — 
this  is  my  greatest  trouble.  Though  Blanche  is  an  angel,  she 
does  not  understand  me  j  she  knows  nothing  of  my  sufferings, 
she  only  frets  them.  I  forgive  her.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to 
say,  my  friend,  but  a  less  virtuous  woman  would  have  made 
me  happier  by  little  soothing  ways  which  never  occur  to 
Blanche,  for  she  is  as  great  a  simpleton  as  a  baby !  Add  to 
this  that  the  servants  do  nothing  but  plague  me.  They  are 
perfect  owls  !  I  speak  French,  and  they  hear  Greek. 

"When  our  fortune  was  somewhat  amended  by  hook  and 
by  crook,  when  I  began  to  be  less  worried,  the  mischief  was 
done ;  I  had  reached  the  stage  of  morbid  appetite.  Then  I 
had  that  bad  illness  which  Origet  so  entirely  misunderstood. 
In  short,  at  this  moment  I  have  not  six  months  to  live." 

I  listened  to  the  Count  in  terror.  On  seeing  the  Countess, 
the  glitter  of  her  hard  eyes  and  the  straw-colored  complexion 
of  her  brow  had  struck  me.  I  now  dragged  the  Count  back 
to  the  house  as  I  pretended  to  listen  to  his  complaining,  in- 
terspersed with  medical  dissertations,  but  I  was  thinking  only 
of  Henriette,  and  was  bent  on  studying  her. 

I  found  the  Countess  in  the  drawing-room  ;  she  was  listen- 
ing to  a  lesson  in  mathematics  that  the  Abbe  de  Dominis  was 
giving  to  Jacques,  while  she  showed  Madeleine  a  stitch  in 
tapestry.  Formerly  she  would  have  found  means,  on  the  day 
of  my  arrival,  to  put  off  such  occupations  and  devote  herself 
to  me  ;  but  my  love  was  so  deep  and  true  that  I  buried  in  the 
depths  of  my  heart  the  sorrow  I  felt  at  the  contrast  between 
the  past  and  present ;  for  I  could  see  that  terrible  yellow 
tinge  on  her  heavenly  face,  like  the  reflection  of  a  divine 


216  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

light  which  Italian  painters  have  given  to  the  faces  of  their 
female  saints.  I  felt  in  my  soul  the  cold  blast  of  death. 
When  the  blaze  of  her  eyes  fell  on  me,  bereft  now  of  the 
liquid  moisture  in  which  her  looks  had  floated,  I  shuddered  ; 
and  I  then  observed  certain  changes  due  to  grief  which  I  had 
not  noticed  out  of  doors.  The  fine  lines  which,  when  I  had 
last  seen  her,  were  but  faintly  traced  on  her  forehead,  were 
now  deep  furrows ;  her  temples,  bluely  veined,  were  dry  and 
hollow ;  her  eyes  were  sunk  under  reddened  brows  and  had 
dark  circles  round  them ;  she  had  the  look  of  fruit  on  which 
bruises  are  beginning  to  show,  and  which  has  turned  prema- 
turely yellow  from  the  ravages  of  a  worm  within. 

And  was  it  not  I,  whose  sole  ambition  it  had  been  to  pour 
happiness  in  a  full  tide  into  her  soul,  who  had  shed  bitterness 
into  the  spring  whence  her  life  derived  strength  and  her  cour- 
age refreshment  ? 

I  sat  down  by  her,  and  said  in  a  voice  tearful  with  repent- 
ance— 

"  Is  your  health  satisfactory?  " 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  looking  straight  into  my  eyes.  "  Here 
is  my  health,"  and  she  pointed  lovingly  to  Madeleine  and 
Jacques. 

Madeleine,  who  had  come  out  victorious  from  her  struggle 
with  nature,  at  fifteen  was  a  woman  ;  she  had  grown,  the  tint 
of  a  China  rose  bloomed  in  her  dark  cheeks ;  she  had  lost  the 
light  heedlessness  of  a  child  that  looks  everything  in  the  face, 
and  had  begun  to  cast  down  her  eyes.  Her  movements,  like 
her  mother's,  were  rare  and  sober;  her  figure  slight,  and  the 
charms  of  her  bust  already  filling  out.  A  woman's  vanity 
had  smoothed  her  fine  black  hair,  parted  into  bands  on  her 
Spanish-looking  brow.  She  had  a  look  of  the  pretty  mediaeval 
busts,  so  refined  in  outline,  so  slender  in  mould,  that  the  eye 
that  lingers  on  them  fears  lest  it  should  break  them;  but 
health,  the  fruit  that  had  ripened  after  so  much  care,  had 
given  her  cheek  the  velvety  texture  of  the  peach,  and  a  silky 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    I'ALLEY.  217 

down  on  her  neck  which  caught  the  light — as  it  did  in  her 
mother. 

She  would  live !  God  had  written  it,  sweet  bud  of  the 
loveliest  of  human  blossoms,  on  the  long  lashes  of  your  eye- 
lids, on  the  slope  of  your  shoulders,  which  promised  to  be  as 
beautiful  as  your  mother's  had  been  ! 

This  nut-brown  maiden,  with  the  growth  of  a  poplar,  was  a 
contrast  indeed  to  Jacques,  a  fragile  youth  of  seventeen,  whose 
head  looked  too  large,  for  his  brow  had  expanded  so  rapidly 
as  to  give  rise  to  alarms,  whose  fevered,  weary  eyes  were  in 
keeping  with  a  deep  sonorous  voice.  The  throat  gave  out  too 
great  a  volume  of  sound,  just  as  the  eye  betrayed  too  much 
thought.  Here  Henriette's  intellect,  soul,  and  heart  were 
consuming  with  eager  fires  a  too  frail  body ;  for  Jacques  had 
the  milk-white  complexion  touched  with  the  burning  flush 
that  is  seen  in  young  English  girls  marked  by  that  awful 
scourge,  consumption,  to  be  felled  within  a  limited  time — 
delusive  health  ! 

Following  a  gesture  by  which  Henriette,  after  pointing  to 
Madeleine,  made  me  look  at  Jacques,  tracing  geometrical 
figures  and  algebraical  sums  on  a  blackboard  before  the  abb6, 
I  was  startled  at  this  glimpse  of  death  hidden  under  roses  and 
respected  the  unhappy  mother's  mistake. 

"When  I  see  them  so  well,  joy  silences  all  my  griefs,  as, 
indeed,  they  are  silent  and  vanish  when  I  see  those  two  ill. 
My  friend,"  said  she,  her  eyes  beaming  with  motherly  pleas- 
ure, "  if  other  affections  desert  us,  those  that  find  their  reward 
here — duties  fulfilled  and  crowned  with  success — make  up  for 
defeat  endured  elsewhere.  Jacques,  like  you,  will  be  a  highly 
cultivated  man,  full  of  virtuous  learning ;  like  you,  he  will  be 
an  honor  to  his  country — which  he  may  help  to  govern  per- 
haps, guided  by  you,  who  will  hold  so  high  a  place — but  I 
will  try  to  make  him  faithful  to  his  first  affections.  Madeleine, 
dear  creature,  has  already  an  exquisite  heart.  She  is  as  pure 
as  the  snow  on  the  highest  Alpine  summit ;  she  will  have  the. 


218  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY 

devotedness  and  the  sweet  intelligence  of  woman ;  she  is 
proud,  she  will  be  worthy  of  the  Lenoncourts  ! 

"  The  mother,  once  so  distraught,  is  now  very  happy — 
happy  in  an  infinite  and  unmixed  happiness;  yes,  my  life  is 
full,  my  life  is  rich.  As  you  see,  God  has  given  me  joys  that 
unfold  from  permitted  affection,  has  infused  bitterness  into 
those  to  which  I  was  being  tempted  by  a  dangerous  attach- 
ment." 

"Well  done!"  cried  the  abbe  gleefully.  "Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  knows  as  much  as  I  do " 

Jacques,  as  he  finished  the  demonstration,  coughed  a  little. 

"That  is  enough  for  to-day,  my  dear  abbe,"  said  the 
Countess  in  some  agitation.  "Above  all,  no  chemistry 
lesson  !  Go  out  riding,  Jacques,"  she  added,  kissing  her  son 
with  the  justifiable  rapture  of  a  mother's  caress,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  me  as  if  to  insult  my  remembrances.  "  Go,  dear,  and  be 
prudent." 

"But  you  have  not  answered  my  question,"  said  I,  as  she 
followed  Jacques  with  a  long  look.  "  Do  you  suffer  any 
pain?" 

"  Yes,  sometimes  in  my  chest.  If  I  was  only  in  Paris  I 
could  rise  to  the  honors  of  gastritis,  the  fashionable  com- 
plaint." 

"My  mother  suffers  a  great  deal  and  often,"  replied 
Madeleine. 

"  So  my  health  really  interests  you?  "  said  she  to  me. 

Madeleine,  astonished  at  the  deep  irony  with  which  the 
words  were  spoken,  looked  at  us  by  turns;  my  eyes  were 
counting  the  pink  flowers  on  the  cushions  of  the  gray  and 
green  furniture  in  the  room. 

"The  situation  is  intolerable  !  "  I  said  in  her  ear. 

"  Is  it  of  my  making  ?  "  she  asked.  "  My  dear  boy,"  she 
said  aloud,  affecting  the  cruel  cheerfulness  with  which  women 
give  lightness  to  revenge,  "do  you  know  nothing  of  modern 
history?  Are  not  France  and  England  always  foes?  Why, 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  219 

Madeleine  knows  that ;  she  knows  that  they  are  divided  by  a 
vast  sea,  a  cold  sea,  a  stormy  sea. ' ' 

The  vases  on  the  mantel  had  been  replaced  by  candelabra, 
no  doubt  to  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure  of  filling  them  with 
flowers ;  I  found  them  at  a  later  day  in  her  room.  When  my 
servant  arrived,  I  went  out  to  give  my  orders ;  he  had  brought 
me  a  few  things  that  I  wished  to  carry  up  to  my  room. 

"Felix,"  said  the  Countess,  "make  no  mistake!  My 
aunt's  old  room  is  Madeleine's  now.  Yours  is  over  the 
Count's." 

Guilty  as  I  was,  I  had  a  heart,  and  all  the  speeches  were 
poniard  thrusts  coldly  directed  to  the  tenderest  spots,  which 
they  seemed  chosen  to  hit.  Mental  suffering  is  not  a  fixed 
quantity ;  it  is  in  proportion  to  the  sensitiveness  of  the  soul, 
and  the  Countess  had  bitterly  gone  through  the  whole  scale 
of  anguish ;  but  for  this  very  reason  the  best  woman  will 
always  be  cruel  in  proportion  to  what  her  kindness  has  been. 
I  looked  at  her,  but  she  kept  her  head  down. 

I  went  up  to  my  new  room,  which  was  pretty — white  and 
green.  There  I  melted  into  tears.  Henriette  heard  me ;  she 
came  in,  bringing  me  a  bunch  of  flowers. 

"  Henriette,"  said  I,  "  have  you  come  to  such  a  point  that 
you  cannot  forgive  the  most  excusable  fault?  " 

"Never  call  me  Henriette,"  she  said.  "She  has  ceased 
to  exist,  poor  woman ;  but  you  will  always  find  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  an  attached  friend  who  will  listen  to  you  and  care 
for  you.  Felix,  we  will  talk  later.  If  you  still  have  an  affec- 
tion for  me  let  me  get  accustomed  to  see  you,  and  as  soon  as 
words  are  a  less  heart-rending  effort,  as  soon  as  I  have  recov- 
ered a  little  courage — then,  and  not  till  then.  You  see  the 
valley?  "  and  she  pointed  to  the  river.  "  It  hurts  me — but  I 
love  it  still." 

"  Oh,  perish  England  and  all  its  women  !  I  shall  send 
in  my  resignation  to  the  King.  I  will  die  here,  for- 
given !  " 


220  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"No,  no;  love  her — love  that  woman!  Henriette  is  no 
more ;  this  is  no  jest,  as  you  will  see  ! ' ' 

She  left  the  room ;  the  tone  of  her  last  speech  showed  how 
deeply  she  was  wounded. 

I  hurried  after  her ;  I  stopped  her,  saying — 

"  Then  you  no  longer  love  me?" 

"  You  have  pained  me  more  than  all  the  others  put  to- 
gether. To-day  I  am  suffering  less,  and  I  love  you  less :  but 
it  is  only  in  England  that  they  say,  '  Neither  never  nor  for 
ever.'  Here  we  only  say,  'for  ever.'  Be  good;  do  not 
add  to  my  pain  ;  and  if  you,  too,  are  hurt,  remember  that  I 
can  still  live  on." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  which  I  had  taken  ;  it  was  cold, 
inert,  but  clammy,  and  she  was  off  like  an  arrow  along  the 
passage  where  this  really  tragical  scene  had  taken  place. 

In  the  course  of  dinner  the  Count  had  a  torture  in  store 
for  me  of  which  I  had  not  dreamed. 

"Then  the  Marchioness  of  Dudley  is  not  in  Paris?"  he 
said. 

I  colored  crimson  and  replied,  "  No." 

"  She  is  not  at  Tours,"  he  went  on. 

"  She  is  not  divorced  ;  she  may  go  to  England.  Her  hus- 
band would  be  delighted  if  she  would  return  to  him,"  I  said 
excitedly. 

"  Has  she  any  children  ?  "  asked  Madame  de  Mortsauf  in  a 
husky  voice. 

"Two  sons,"  said  I. 

"Where  are  they?" 

"  In  England  with  their  father." 

"  Now,  Felix,  be  candid.     Is  she  as  lovely  as  people  say  ?  " 

"Can  you  ask  him  such  a  question,"  cried  the  Countess. 
"Is  not  the  woman  a  man  loves  always  the  most  beautiful  of 
her  sex?" 

"Yes,  always,"  I  replied  with  emphasis,  and  a  flashing  look 
that  she  could  not  meet, 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  221 

"You  are  in  luck,"  the  Count  went  on.  "  Yes,  you  are  a 
lucky  rascal !  Ah  !  when  I  was  young  my  head  would  have 
been  turned  by  such  a  conquest " 

"That  is  enough!  "  said  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  glancing 
from  Madeleine  to  her  father. 

"I  am  not  a  boy,"  said  the  Count,  who  loved  to  think 
himself  young  again. 

After  dinner  the  Countess  led  the  way  down  to  the  terrace, 
and  when  we  there  she  exclaimed — 

"  What,  there  are  women  who  can  sacrifice  their  children 
for  a  man  !  Fortune  and  the  world,  yes — I  understand  that; 
eternity  perhaps  ?  But  her  children  !  To  give  up  her  chil- 
dren !" 

' '  Yes,  and  such  women  would  be  glad  to  have  more  to  sac- 
rifice; they  give  everything " 

To  the  Countess  the  world  seemed  to  be  upside  down ;  her 
ideas  were  in  confusion.  Startled  by  the  magnitude  of  this 
idea,  suspecting  that  happiness  might  justify  this  immolation, 
hearing  within  her  the  outcries  of  the  rebellious  flesh,  she 
stood  aghast,  gazing  at  her  spoilt  life.  Yes,  she  went  through 
a  minute  of  agonizing  doubts.  But  she  came  out  great  and 
saintly,  holding  her  head  high. 

"Love  her  truly,  Felix;  love  that  woman,"  she  said  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  "  She  will  be  my  happier  sister.  I  forgive 
her  the  ill  she  has  done  me  if  she  can  give  you  what  you  could 
never  have  found  here,  what  you  could  never  find  in  me. 
You  are  right ;  I  never  told  you  that  I  could  love  you  as  you 
of  the  world  love — and  I  never  did  love  you  so.  Still,  if  she 
is  not  a  true  mother,  how  can  she  love? " 

"Dear  saint,"  said  I,  "I  should  have  to  be  much  less 
agitated  than  I  now  am  to  explain  to  you  how  victoriously  you 
soar  above  her  head ;  that  she  is  a  creature  of  earth,  the 
daughter  of  a  fallen  race,  while  you  are  the  daughter  of 
heaven,  the  angel  of  my  adoration ;  that  you  have  my  heart  and 
she  has  only  my  body.  She  knows  it ;  she  is  in  despair  over 


222  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

it,  and  she  would  change  places  with  you  even  if  the  crudest 
martrydom  were  the  price  of  the  exchange. 

"  But  all  this  is  past  remedy.  Yours  are  my  soul,  my 
thoughts,  my  purest  love,  yours  are  my  youth  and  my  old  age ; 
hers  are  the  desires  and  raptures  of  transient  passion.  You 
will  fill  my  memory  in  all  its  extent ;  she  will  be  utterly  for- 
gotten." 

"Tell  me,  tell  me — oh,  tell  me  this,  my  dear!  "  She  sat 
down  on  a  bench  and  melted  into  tears.  "Then  virtue, 
Felix,  a  saintly  life,  motherly  love,  are  not  a  mere  blunder. 
Oh,  pour  that  balm  on  my  sorrows !  Repeat  those  words 
which  restore  me  to  the  bliss  for  which  I  hoped  to  strive  in 
equal  flight  with  you  !  Bless  me  with  a  sacred  word,  a  look, 
and  I  can  forgive  you  the  misery  I  have  endured  these  two 
months  past." 

"Henriette,  there  are  mysteries  in  a  man's  life  of  which 
you  know  nothing.  When  I  met  you,  I  was  at  an  age  when 
sentiment  can  smother  the  cravings  of  our  nature;  still  several 
scenes,  of  which  the  memory  will  warm  me  in  the  hour  of 
death,  must  have  shown  you  that  I  had  almost  outlived  that 
stage,  and  it  was  your  unfailing  triumph  that  you  could  prolong 
its  mute  delights.  Love  without  possession  is  upheld  by  the 
very  exasperation  of  hope  ;  but  a  moment  comes  when  every 
feeling  is  pure  suffering  to  us  who  are  not  in  any  respect  like 
you.  A  power  is  ours  which  we  cannot  abdicate,  or  we  are 
not  men.  The  heart,  bereft  of  the  nourishment  it  needs, 
feeds  on  itself  and  sinks  into  exhaustion,  which  is  not  death 
but  which  leads  to  it.  Nature  cannot  be  persistently  cheated, 
at  the  least  accident  it  asserts  itself  with  a  vehemence  akin  to 
madness. 

"  No,  I  did  not  love,  I  thirsted  in  the  desert !  '* 

"  In  the  desert !  "  she  bitterly  echoed,  pointing  to  the 
valley.  "  And  how  he  argues,"  she  went  on;  "  what  subtle 
distinctions.  Believers  have  not  so  much  wit !  " 

"  Henriette,"  said  I,  "do  not  let  us  quarrel  for  the  sake 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  223 

of  a  few  overbold  expressions.  My  soul  has  never  wavered, 
but  I  was  no  longer  master  of  my  senses.  That  woman 
knows  that  you  are  the  only  one  I  love.  She  plays  a  secondary- 
part  in  my  life ;  she  knows  it,  and  is  resigned.  I  have  a 
right  to  desert  her  as  we  desert  a  courtesan." 

"What  then?" 

"  She  says  she  shall  kill  herself,"  said  I,  thinking  that  this 
resolution  would  startle  Henriette. 

But  as  she  heard  me,  she  gave  one  of  those  scornful  smiles 
that  are  even  more  expressive  than  the  ideas  they  represent. 
"  My  dearest  conscience,"  I  went  on,  "  if  you  gave  me  credit 
for  my  resistance  and  for  the  temptations  that  led  to  my  ruin, 
you  would  understand  this  fated " 

"  Yes,  fated  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  I  believed  in  you  too  com- 
pletely. I  fancied  you  would  never  lack  the  virtue  a  priest 
can  practice,  and — Monsieur  de  Mortsauf !  "  she  added,  with 
satirical  emphasis. 

"It  is  all  over,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause.  "  I  owe  much 
to  you,  my  friend ;  you  have  extinguished  the  light  of  earthly 
life  in  me.  The  hardest  part  of  the  road  is  past ;  I  am  grow- 
ing old,  I  am  often  ailing,  almost  invalided.  I  could  never 
be  the  glittering  fairy,  showering  favors  on  you.  Be  faithful 
to  Lady  Arabella.  And  Madeleine,  whom  I  was  bringing  up 
so  well  for  you,  whose  will  she  be  ?  Poor  Madeleine,  poor 
Madeleine!"  she  repeated,  like  a  sorrowful  burthen.  "If 
you  could  have  heard  her  say,  '  Mother,  you  are  not  nice  to 
Felix.'  Sweet  creature  !  " 

She  looked  at  me  in  the  mild  rays  of  the  setting  sun  that 
slanted  through  the  foliage  ;  and,  filled  with  some  mysterious 
pity  for  the  ruin  of  us  both,  she  looked  back  on  our  chastened 
past,  giving  herself  up  to  reminiscences  that  were  mutual. 
We  took  up  the  thread  of  our  memories,  our  eyes  went  from 
the  valley  to  the  vineyard,  from  the  windows  of  Clochegourde 
to  Frapesle,  filling  our  day-dream  with  the  perfumes  of  our 
nosegays,  the  romance  of  our  hopes.  It  was  her  last  piece 


224  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

of  self-indulgence,  enjoyed  with  the  guilelessness  of  a  Christian 
soul.  The  scene,  to  us  so  full  of  meaning,  had  plunged  us 
both  into  melancholy.  She  believed  my  words,  and  felt  her- 
self in  the  heaven  where  I  had  placed  her. 

"My  friend,"  exclaimed  she,  "I  submit  to  God,  for  His 
hand  is  in  all  this." 

It  was  not  till  later  that  I  understood  all  the  deep  meaning 
of  this  speech. 

We  slowly  went  back  by  the  terraces.  She  took  my  arm 
and  leaned  on  me,  resigned,  bleeding,  but  having  bound  up 
her  wounds. 

"  This  is  human  life,"  she  said.  "  What  had  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  done  to  deserve  his  fate  ?  All  this  proves  the  exist- 
ence of  another  world.  Woe  to  those  who  complain  of  walk- 
ing in  the  narrow  way." 

She  went  on  to  estimate  the  value  of  life,  to  contemplate  it 
so  profoundly  in  its  various  aspects,  that  her  calm  balance 
showed  me  what  disgust  had  come  over  her  of  everything  here 
below.  As  we  reached  the  top  steps  she  took  her  hand  from 
my  arm,  and  said  these  last  words — 

"  Since  God  has  given  us  the  faculty  and  love  of  happiness, 
must  He  not  take  care  of  those  innocent  souls  that  have  not 
known  anything  but  affliction  on  earth  ?  Either  this  is  so,  or 
there  is  no  God,  and  our  life  is  but  a  cruel  jest." 

With  these  words  she  hastily  went  indoors,  and  I  found  her 
presently  lying  on  the  sofa,  stricken  as  though  she  had  heard 
the  Voice  which  confounded  Saint  Paul. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  I  asked. 

"I  no  longer  know  what  virtue  means,"  said  she.  "I 
have  ceased  to  be  conscious  of  my  own." 

We  both  remained  petrified,  listening  to  the  echo  of  these 
words  as  to  a  stone  flung  into  a  chasm. 

"  If  I  have  been  mistaken  in  my  life,  it  is  she  who  is  right 
— she  !  "  added  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

Thus  her  last  indulgence  had  led  to  this  last  struggle. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  225 

When  the  Count  came  in,  she,  who  never  complained,  said 
she  felt  ill ;  I  implored  her  to  define  her  pain,  but  she  refused 
to  say  more  and  went  to  bed,  leaving  me  a  victim  to  remorse, 
one  regret  leadirig  to  another. 

Madeleine  went  with  her  mother,  and  oa  the  following  day 
I  heard  from  her  that  the  Countess  had  had  an  attack  of  sick- 
ness, brought  on,  as  she  said,  by  the  violent  agitation  she  had 
gone  through.  And  so  I,  who  would  have  given  my  life  for 
her,  was  killing  her. 

"My  dear  Count,"  said  I  to  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf,  who 
insisted  on  my  playing  backgammon,  "  I  think  the  Countess 
is  very  seriously  ill ;  there  is  yet  time  to  save  her.  Send  for 
Origet,  and  entreat  her  to  follow  his  orders " 

"  Origet  !  Who  killed  me  !  "  cried  he,  interrupting  me. 
"No,  no.  I  will  consult  Charbonneau." 

All  through  that  week,  especially  during  the  first  day  or 
two,  everything  was  torture  to  me,  an  incipient  paralysis  of 
the  heart,  wounded  vanity,  a  wounded  soul.  Until  one  has 
been  the  centre  of  everything,  of  every  look  and  sigh,  the 
vital  principle,  the  focus  from  which  others  derived  their  light, 
one  cannot  know  how  horrible  a  void  can  be.  The  same 
things  were  there,  but  the  spirit  that  animated  them  was 
extinct,  like  a  flame  that  is  blown  out.  I  understood  now 
the  frightful  necessity  lovers  feel  never  to  meet  again  when 
love  is  dead.  Think  what  it  is  to  be  nobody  where  one  has 
reigned  supreme,  to  find  the  cold  silence  of  death  where  the 
glad  days  of  life  had  glowed.  Such  comparisons  are  crushing. 
I  soon  began  even  to  regret  the  miserable  ignorance  of  every 
joy  that  had  blighted  my  youth.  My  despair  was  so  over- 
powering, indeed,  that  the  Countess  was  touched,  I  certainly 
believe. 

One  day,  after  dinner,  when  we  were  all  walking  by  the 
river,  I  made  a  final  effort  to  gain  forgiveness.  I  begged 
Jacques  to  take  his  sister  a  little  way  in  front ;  I  left  the 
15 


226  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

Count  to  himself,  and  taking  Madame  Mortsauf  down  to  the 
punt: 

"  Henriette,"  I  said,  "  one  word  of  mercy,  or  I  will  throw 
myself  into  the  Indre  !  I  fell,  it  is  true ;  but  am  I  not  like  a 
dog  in  my  devoted  attachment  ?  I  come  back  as  he  does, 
like  him  full  of  shame ;  if  he  does  wrong  he  is  punished,  but 
he  adores  the  hand  that  strikes  him ;  scourge  me,  but  give  me 
back  your  heart." 

"Poor  boy,"  said  she.  "Are  you  not  as  much  as  ever 
my  son?" 

She  took  my  arm  and  slowly  rejoined  Jacques  and  Madeleine 
with  whom  she  went  homeward,  leaving  me  to  the  Count, 
who  began  to  talk  politics  apropos  to  his  neighbors. 

"Let  us  go  in,"  I  said,  "you  are  bareheaded,  and  the 
evening  dew  may  do  you  some  harm." 

"You  can  pity  me — you,  my  dear  Felix!"  replied  he, 
misapprehending  my  intentions.  "My  wife  never  will  com- 
fort me — on  principle  perhaps." 

Never  of  old  would  she  have  left  me  alone  with  her  hus- 
band ;  now  I  had  to  find  excuses  for  being  with  her.  She 
was  with  the  children  explaining  the  rules  of  backgammon  to 
Jacques. 

"There,"  said  the  Count,  always  jealous  of  the  affection 
she  gave  to  her  two  children  ;  "there,  it  is  for  them  that  I 
am  persistently  neglected.  Husbands,  my  dear  Felix,  go  to 
the  wall ;  the  most  virtuous  woman  on  earth  finds  a  way  of 
satisfying  her  craving  to  steal  the  affection  due  to  her  hus- 
band." 

She  still  caressed  the  children,  making  no  reply. 

"Jacques,"  said  he,  "  come  here." 

Jacques  made  some  difficulty. 

"Your  father  wants  you — go,  my  boy,"  said  his  mother, 
pushing  him. 

"They  love  me  by  order,"  said  the  old  man,  who  some- 
times perceived  the  position. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  227 

"  Monsieur,"  said  she,  stroking  Madeleine's  smooth  bands 
of  hair  again  and  again,  "do  not  be  unjust  to  us  hapless 
wives ;  life  is  not  always  easy  to  bear,  and  perhaps  a  mother's 
children  are  her  virtues  !  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Count,  who  was  pleased  to  be  logical, 
"  what  you  say  amounts  to  this :  that,  but  for  their  children, 
women  would  have  no  virtue,  but  would  leave  their  husbands 
in  the  lurch." 

The  Countess  arose  hastily  and  went  out  on  to  the  steps 
with  Madeleine. 

"  Such  is  marriage,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  Count.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  imply  by  walking  out  of  the  room  that  I  am  talk- 
ing nonsense?"  he  cried,  taking  Jacques'  hand  and  follow- 
ing his  wife,  to  whom  he  spoke  with  flashing  looks  of  rage  and 
fury. 

"  Not  at  all,  monsieur,  but  you  frightened  me.  Your  re- 
mark wounded  me  terribly,"  she  went  on  in  a  hollow  voice, 
with  the  glance  of  a  criminal  at  me.  "  If  virtue  does  not 
consist  in  self-sacrifice  for  one's  children  and  one's  husband, 
what  is  virtue?" 

"  Self-sa-cri-fice !  "  echoed  the  Count,  rapping  out  each 
syllable  like  a  blow  on  his  victim's  heart.  "  What  is  it  that 
you  sacrifice  to  your  children?  What  do  you  sacrifice  to  me? 
Whom  ?  What  ?  Answer — will  you  answer  ?  What  is  going 
on  then?  What  do  you  mean ?" 

"  Monsieur,"  said  she,  "  would  you  be  content  to  be  loved 
for  God's  sake,  or  to  know  that  your  wife  was  virtuous  for 
virtue's  sake?" 

"Madame  is  right,"  said  I,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  emotion 
that  rang  in  the  two  hearts  into  which  I  cast  my  hopes  for 
ever  ruined,  and  which  I  stilled  by  the  expression  of  the 
greatest  grief  of  all,  its  hollow  cry  extinguishing  the  quarrel, 
as  all  is  silence  when  a  lion  roars.  "  Yes,  the  noblest  privi- 
lege conferred  on  us  by  reason  is  that  we  may  dedicate  our 
virtues  to  those  beings  whose  happiness  is  of  our  making,  and 


228  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

whom  we  make  happy  not  out  of  self-interest  or  sense  of 
duty,  but  from  involuntary  and  inexhaustible  affection." 

A  tear  glistened  in  Henriette's  eye. 

"  And,  my  dear  Count,  if  by  chance  a  woman  were  in- 
voluntarily subjugated  by  some  feeling  alien  to  those  imposed 
on  her  by  society,  you  must  confess  that  the  more  irresistible 
that  feeling  the  more  virtuous  would  she  be  in  stifling  it — in 
sacrificing  herself  to  her  children  and  her  husband. 

"  This  theory,  however,  is  not  applicable  to  me,  since  I  un- 
fortunately am  an  example  to  the  contrary;  nor  to  you,  whom 
it  can  never  concern." 

A  burning  but  clammy  hand  was  laid  on  mine,  and  rested 
there,  in  silence. 

"  You  have  a  noble  soul,  Felix,"  said  the  Count,  putting 
his  arm  not  ungraciously  round  his  wife's  waist,  and  drawing 
her  to  him,  as  he  said  :  "  Forgive  me,  my  dear — a  poor  in- 
valid who  longs  to  be  loved  more,  no  doubt,  than  he  de- 
serves." 

"Some  hearts  are  all  generosity,"  said  she,  leaning  her 
head  on  the  Count's  shoulder,  and  he  took  the  speech  for 
himself. 

The  mistake  caused  some  strange  revulsion  in  the  Countess. 
She  shuddered,  her  comb  fell  out,  her  hair  fell  down,  and  she 
turned  pale ;  her  husband,  who  was  supporting  her,  gave  a 
deep  groan  as  he  saw  her  faint  away.  He  took  her  up  as  he 
might  have  taken  his  daughter,  and  carried  her  on  to  the  sofa 
in  the  drawing-room,  where  we  stood  beside  her.  Henriette 
kept  my  hand  in  hers  as  if  to  say  that  we  alone  knew  the 
secret  of  this  scene,  apparently  so  simple,  but  so  terribly 
heart-rending  for  her. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  at  a  moment  when 
the  Count  had  gone  to  fetch  a  glass  of  orange-flower  water. 
"A  thousand  times  wrong  in  treating  you  so  as  to  drive  you 
to  despair  when  I  ought  to  have  admitted  you  to  mercy.  My 
dear,  you  are  adorably  kind  ;  I  alone  can  know  how  kiad. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  229 

Yes,  I  know,  some  forms  of  kindness  are  inspired  by  passion. 
Men  have  many  ways  of  being  kind — from  disdain,  from  im- 
pulse, from  self-interest,  from  indolence  of  temper ;  but  you, 
my  friend,  have  been  simply,  absolutely  kind." 

"If  so,"  I  said,  "remember  that  all  that  is  great  in  me 
comes  from  you.  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  wholly  what 
you  have  made  me  ?  " 

"  Such  a  speech  is  enough  for  a  woman's  happiness,"  she 
answered,  just  as  the  Count  came  in.  "  I  am  better,"  said 
she,  rising.  "  I  want  some  fresh  air." 

We  all  went  down  to  the  terrace,  now  scented  by  the  acacias 
still  in  bloom.  She  had  taken  my  right  arm  and  pressed  it 
to  her  heart,  thus  expressing  her  painful  thoughts ;  but,  to 
use  her  own  words,  it  was  a  pain  she  loved.  She  wished,  no 
doubt,  to  be  alone  with  me ;  but  her  imagination,  unpracticed 
in  woman's  wiles,  suggested  no  reason  for  dismissing  the  chil- 
dren and  her  husband  ;  so  we  talked  of  indifferent  matters 
while  she  racked  her  brain  trying  to  find  a  moment  when  she 
could  at  last  pour  out  her  heart  into  mine. 

"  It  is  a  very  long  time  since  I  took  a  drive,"  said  she  at 
length,  seeing  the  evening  so  fine.  "  Will  you  give  the  orders, 
monsieur,  that  I  may  make  a  little  round  ?  " 

She  knew  no  explanation  was  possible  before  prayer-time, 
and  feared  that  the  Count  would  want  a  game  of  backgammon. 
She  might  indeed  come  out  here  again,  on  this  sheltered  ter- 
race, after  the  Count  was  gone  to  bed  ;  but  perhaps  she  was 
afraid  to  linger  under  these  boughs  through  which  the  light 
fell  with  such  a  voluptuous  play,  or  to  walk  by  the  parapet 
whence  our  eyes  could  trace  the  course  of  the  Indre  through 
the  meadows.  Just  as  a  cathedral,  with  its  gloomy  and  silent 
vault  suggests  prayer,  so  does  foliage  spangled  by  moonlight, 
perfumed  with  piercing  scents,  and  alive  with  the  mysterious 
sounds  of  spring,  stir  every  fibre  and  relax  the  will.  The 
country,  which  calms  an  old  man's  passions,  fires  those  of 
youthful  hearts — and  we  knew  it. 


230  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

Two  peals  of  a  bell  called  us  to  prayers.  The  Countess 
started. 

"  My  dear  Henriette,  what  ails  you  ?  " 
"  Henriette  is  no  more,"  said  she.  "  Do  not  call  her  back 
to  life  again ;  she  was  exacting  and  capricious.  Now  you 
have  a  friend  whose  virtue  is  confirmed  by  the  words  which 
heaven  must  have  dictated  to  you.  We  will  speak  of  this 
later.  Let  us  be  punctual  for  prayers.  It  is  my  turn  to  read 
them  to-day." 

When  the  Countess  used  the  words  in  which  she  besought 
God  to  preserve  us  against  all  the  adversities  of  life,  she  gave 
them  an  emphasis  which  I  was  not  alone  in  noticing;  she 
seemed  to  have  used  her  gift  of  second-sight  to  discern  the 
dreadful  agitation  she  was  fated  to  go  through  in  consequence 
of  my  clumsiness  in  forgetting  my  agreement  with  Arabella. 

"  We  have  time  to  play  three  hits  while  the  horses  are  put 
in,"  said  the  Count,  leading  me  off  to  the  drawing-room. 
"  Then  you  will  drive  with  my  wife.  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

Like  all  our  games,  this  one  was  stormy.  From  her  own 
room  or  Madeleine's  the  Countess  could  hear  her  husband's 
voice. 

"  You  make  a  strange  misuse  of  hospitality,"  she  said  to 
her  husband  when  she  came  back  to  the  room. 

I  looked  at  her  in  bewilderment ;  I  could  not  get  used  to 
her  sternness  ;  in  former  times  she  would  never  have  tried  to 
shield  me  from  the  Count's  tyranny  ;  she  had  liked  to  see  me 
sharing  her  penalties  and  enduring  them  patiently  for  love  of 
her. 

"  I  would  give  my  life,"  said  I  in  her  ear,  "to  hear  you 
murmur  once  more — Poor  dear,  poor  dear  !  ' ' 

She  looked  down,  recalling  the  occasion  to  which  I  alluded  ; 
her  eyes  turned  on  me  with  a  sidelong  glance,  and  expressed 
the  joy  of  a  woman  who  sees  the  most  fugitive  accents  of 
her  heart  more  highly  prized  than  the  deepest  delights  of 
any  other  love. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  231 

Then,  as  ever  when  she  had  done  me  such  an  injustice,  I 
forgave  her,  feeling  that  she  understood  me.  The  Count  was 
losing ;  he  said  he  was  tired,  to  break  off  the  game,  and  we 
went  to  walk  around  the  lawn  while  waiting  for  the  carriage. 
No  sooner  had  he  left  us  than  my  face  beamed  so  vividly  with 
gladness  that  the  Countess  questioned  me  by  a  look  of  sur- 
prise and  inquiry. 

"  Henriette  still  lives,"  I  said;  "I  still  am  loved!  You 
wound  me  with  too  evident  intention  to  break  my  heart ;  I 
may  yet  be  happy." 

"There  was  but  a  shred  of  the  woman  left,"  she  said,  in 
terror,  "  and  you  at  this  moment  have  it  in  your  grasp. 
God  be  praised  !  He  gives  me  the  strength  to  endure  the 
martyrdom  I  have  deserved.  Yes,  I  still  love  ;  I  was  near 
falling;  the  Englishwoman  throws  a  light  into  the  gulf." 

We  got  into  the  carriage,  and  the  coachman  waited  for 
orders. 

"Go  by  the  avenue  to  the  Chinon  road,  and  come  home 
by  the  Landes  de  Charlemagne  and  the  Sache  road." 
"  What  is  to-day  ?  "  I  asked  too  eagerly. 
"Saturday." 

"  Then  do  not  drive  that  way,  madame ;  on  Saturday  even- 
ings the  road  is  crowded  with  noisy  bumpkins  going  to  Tours, 
and  we  shall  meet  their  carts." 

"Do  as  I  say,"  said  the  Countess  to  the  coachman,  with 
emphasis. 

We  knew  each  other  too  well,  and  every  inflection  of  tone, 
endless  as  they  were,  to  disguise  the  most  trifling  feeling. 
Henriette  had  understood  everything. 

"  You  did  not  think  of  the  country  bumpkins  when  you 
chose  this  evening,"  she  remarked,  with  a  faint  tinge  of  irony. 
"  Lady  Dudley  is  at  Tours.  Tell  no  falsehoods ;  she  is  wait- 
ing for  you  near  here.  What  day  is  it — bumpkins — carts  !  " 
she  went  on.  "  Did  you  ever  make  such  remarks  when  we 
used  to  go  out  together?  " 


232  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"  They  prove  that  I  have  forgotten  all  about  Clochegourde," 
I  replied,  simply. 

"  She  is  waiting  for  you?  " 

"Yes." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"Between  eleven  and  midnight." 

"Where?" 

"On  the  Landes." 

"  Do  not  deceive  me.     Not  under  the  walnut  tree? " 

"On  the  Landes." 

"  We  will  be  there,"  she  said.     "  I  shall  see  her." 

On  hearing  these  words  I  regarded  my  fate  as  definitely 
settled.  I  determined  to  marry  Lady  Dudley  and  so  put  an 
end  to  the  dreadful  conflict  which  really  threatened  to  exhaust 
my  nerves,  and  to  destroy  by  such  constant  friction  the  deli- 
cate pleasures  which  are  like  the  bloom  on  a  fruit.  My  savage 
silence  wounded  the  Countess,  whose  magnanimity  was  not 
yet  fully  known  to  me. 

"Do  not  be  provoked  with  me,  dear,"  she  said  in  her 
golden  tones.  "This  is  my  penance.  You  will  never  find 
such  love  as  lies  here,"  and  she  placed  her  hand  on  her  heart. 
"  Did  I  not  confess  to  you  that  the  Marchioness  of  Dudley 
has  saved  me  ?  The  stain  is  hers ;  I  do  not  envy  her.  Mine 
is  the  glorious  love  of  the  angels !  Since  you  came  I  have 
traveled  over  a  vast  extent  of  country ;  I  have  pronounced 
judgment  on  life.  Uplift  the  soul  and  you  rend  it ;  the  higher 
you  rise  the  less  sympathy  you  find ;  instead  of  suffering  in 
the  valley  you  suffer  in  the  air,  like  an  eagle  soaring  up  and 
bearing  in  his  heart  an  arrow  shot  by  some  clumsy  shepherd. 
I  know  now  that  heaven  and  earth  are  incompatible.  Yes, 
and  for  those  who  can  dwell  in  the  celestial  zone  God  alone 
is  possible.  Then  our  soul  must  be  detached  from  all  things 
earthly. 

"  We  must  love  our  friends  as  we  love  our  children — for 
their  sake,  not  for  our  own.  We  are  ourselves  the  source  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE   VALLEY.  233 

our  woes  and  griefs.  My  heart  will  rise  higher  than  the  eagle 
soars ;  there  is  a  love  which  will  never  fail  me. 

"  As  to  living  the  life  of  this  earth,  it  hinders  us  too  much 
by  making  the  selfishness  of  the  senses  predominate  over  the 
spirituality  of  the  angel  that  is  in  us.  The  joys  we  get  from 
passion  are  horribly  stormy,  and  paid  for  by  enervating  fears 
that  break  the  springs  of  the  soul. 

"  I  have  stood  on  the  shore  of  the  sea  where  these  tempests 
roar,  I  have  seen  them  too  near ;  they  have  caught  me  in 
their  clouds ;  the  wave  did  not  always  break  at  my  feet,  I  have 
felt  its  rough  embrace  freezing  my  heart ;  I  must  retire  to  the 
heights,  I  should  perish  on  the  strand  of  that  vast  ocean.  In 
you,  as  in  all  who  have  brought  me  sorrow,  I  see  a  guardian 
of  my  virtue.  My  life  has  been  mingled  with  anguish,  hap- 
pily in  proportion  to  my  strength,  and  has  been  there  pre- 
served pure  from  evil  passions,  finding  no  beguiling  repose, 
but  always  ready  for  God. 

"Our  attachment  was  the  insane  attempt,  the  hopeless 
effort,  of  two  guileless  children  who  tried  to  satisfy  at  once 
their  own  hearts,  man,  and  God.  Folly,  Felix !  Ah  !  "  she 
asked,  after  a  pause,  "what  does  that  woman  call  you?" 

"Amedee,"  said  I.  "Felix  is  another  creature,  who  can 
never  be  known  to  any  one  but  you." 

"  Henriette  dies  hard,"  she  replied,  with  a  faint,  pious 
smile.  "  But  she  will  die,"  she  went  on,  "in  the  first  effort 
of  the  humble  Christian,  the  proud  mother,  the  woman  whose 
virtues,  tottering  yesterday,  are  confirmed  to-day. 

"  What  can  I  say?  Yes,  yes,  my  life  has  been  uniform  in 
its  greatest  as  in  its  least  circumstances.  The  heart  to  which 
the  first  rootlets  of  affection  ought  to  have  attached  them- 
selves— my  mother's  heart — was  closed  to  me,  in  spite  of  my 
persistently  seeking  a  cranny  into  which  I  could  steal.  I  was 
a  girl,  the  last  child  after  the  death  of  three  boys,  and  I  vainly 
strove  to  fill  their  place  in  my  parents'  affections  ;  I  could  not 
heal  the  wound  inflicted  on  the  family  pride.  When  having 


234  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

gotten  through  that  melancholy  childhood  I  knew  my  ador- 
able aunt,  death  soon  snatched  her  from  me.  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf,  to  whom  I  devoted  my  life,  struck  me  persistently 
without  respite — without  knowing  it,  poor  man  !  His  love  is 
full  of  the  artless  selfishness  of  our  children's  love.  He 
knows  nothing  of  the  pangs  he  causes  me;  he  is  always  for- 
given. 

"  My  children,  my  darling  children,  flesh  of  my  flesh  in  all 
their  sufferings,  soul  of  my  soul  in  their  characters,  like  me  in 
nature,  in  their  innocent  joys — were  not  those  children  given 
to  me  to  show  how  much  strength  and  patience  there  is  in 
mothers  ?  Oh,  yes,  my  children  are  my  virtues  !  You  know 
whether  I  have  been  scourged  by  them,  through  them,  in 
spite  of  them.  To  be  a  mother  was  to  me  to  purchase  the 
right  of  perpetual  suffering. 

"  When  Hagar  cried  in  the  desert  an  angel  made  a  font  of 
pure  water  spring  for  that  too  well-beloved  slave.  But  when 
the  limpid  brook  to  which  you  desired  to  lead  me,  do  you 
remember?  flowed  round  Clochegourde,  for  me  it  ran  with 
bitter  waters.  Yes,  you  have  brought  incredible  suffering  on 
me.  God  will  no  doubt  forgive  one  who  has  known  affection 
only  through  suffering. 

"Still,  though  the  acutest  anguish  I  have  known  has  been 
brought  upon  me  by  you,  perhaps  I  deserved  it.  God  is  not 
unjust.  Yes,  Felix,  a  kiss  given  by  stealth  is  perhaps  a  crime; 
and  perhaps  I  have  paid  thus  dearly  for  the  steps  I  have  taken 
to  get  ahead  of  my  husband  and  children  when  walking  out  in 
the  evening,  so  as  to  be  alone  with  memories  and  thoughts 
which  were  not  given  to  them,  since,  while  walking  on  in 
front,  my  soul  was  wedded  to  another  !  When  the  inmost 
self  shrinks  and  shrivels,  to  fill  only  the  spot  offered  to  an 
embrace,  that  is  perhaps  a  heinous  crime !  When  a  wife 
stoops  that  her  husband's  kiss  may  fall  on  her  hair,  so  as  to  be 
entirely  neutral,  it  is  a  crime  !  It  is  a  crime  to  count  on  a 
future  built  up  on  death,  a  crime  to  dream  of  a  future  of 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  235 

motherhood  without  terrors,  of  beautiful  children  playing  in 
the  evening  with  a  father  worshiped  by  all,  under  the  softened 
gaze  of  a  happy  mother.  Ah,  I  have  sinned,  I  have  sinned 
greatly  !  I  have  even  found  pleasure  in  the  penance  inflicted 
by  the  church,  which  insufficiently  atoned  for  these  faults  to 
which  the  priest  was  surely  too  indulgent.  But  God,  no 
doubt,  has  set  retribution  in  the  very  heart  of  the  sin  itself, 
by  making  him  for  whom  it  was  committed  the  instrument  of 
His  vengeance  !  Giving  you  my  hair — was  not  that  a  prom- 
ise ?  Why  did  I  love  to  wear  white  ?  I  fancied  myself  more 
like  your  lily ;  did  you  not  see  me  for  the  first  time  in  a 
white  dress  ?  Alas  !  And  I  have  loved  my  children  the  less, 
for  every  ardent  affection  is  stolen  from  those  that  are  due. 
So  you  see,  Felix,  all  suffering  has  a  meaning.  Strike  me, 
strike  me  harder  than  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  and  my  children 
could. 

"  That  woman  is  an  instrument  of  God's  wrath  ;  I  can 
meet  her  without  hatred.  I  will  smile  on  her ;  I  must  love 
her  or  I  am  neither  a  Christian,  a  wife,  nor  a  mother.  If,  as 
you  say,  I  have  helped  to  preserve  your  heart  from  the  contact 
of  what  might  have  soiled  it,  the  Englishwoman  cannot  hate 
me.  A  woman  must  love  the  mother  of  the  man  she  loves ; 
and  I  am  your  mother. 

"What  did  I  look  for  in  your  heart?  The  place  left 
empty  by  Madame  de  Vandenesse.  Oh,  yes ;  for  you  have 
always  complained  of  my  coldness !  Yes,  I  am  indeed  no 
more  than  your  mother.  Forgive  me  for  all  I  said  to  you 
when  you  arrived,  for  a  mother  ought  to  rejoice  to  know  that 
her  son  is  so  much  loved." 

She  leaned  her  head  on  my  bosom  and  repeated — 

"  Forgive,  forgive  !  " 

The  accent  of  her  voice  was  new  to  me.  It  was  not  her 
girlish  voice  with  its  gleeful  intonation  ;  nor  her  wifely  voice 
with  its  imperative  fall;  nor  the  sighing  of  a  grieving  mother. 
It  was  a  heart-rending  voice,  a  new  tone  for  new  sorrows. 


236  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"As  for  you,  Felix,"  she  went  on,  with  more  animation, 
"  you  are  the  friend  who  can  do  no  wrong.  You  have  lost 
nothing  in  my  heart ;  do  not  blame  yourself,  feel  not  the 
slightest  remorse.  Was  it  not  the  height  of  selfishness  to  ask 
you  to  sacrifice  to  an  impossible  future  the  most  stupendous 
pleasure,  since  a  woman  can  abandon  her  children  for  its  sake, 
abdicate  her  rank,  and  renounce  eternity  !  How  often  have 
I  seen  you  my  superior  !  You  were  lofty  and  noble,  I  was 
mean  and  sinful ! 

"Well,  well,  all  is  said.  I  can  never  be  anything  to  you 
but  a  far-away  light,  high  up,  sparkling,  cold,  but  unchanging. 
Only,  Felix,  do  not  let  me  be  alone  in  loving  the  brother  I 
have  chosen.  Love  me  too.  A  sister's  love  has  no  bitter 
morrow,  no  perverse  moods.  You  need  never  be  untrue  to 
the  indulgent  soul  that  will  live  in  your  beautiful  life,  will 
never  fail  to  weep  over  your  sorrows,  and  be  glad  over  your 
joys,  that  will  love  the  women  who  make  you  happy,  and  be 
indignant  if  you  are  betrayed.  I  have  never  had  a  brother 
to  love  so.  Be  magnanimous  enough  to  cast  off  all  pride 
and  solve  all  the  difficulties  of  our  attachment,  hitherto  so 
ill-defined  and  stormy,  by  this  sweet  and  holy  affection.  I 
can  still  live  on  those  terms.  I  will  be  the  first  to  shake 
hands  with  Lady  Dudley." 

She  shed  no  tears,  alas,  as  she  spoke  these  words  full  of 
bitter  experience,  while,  by  snatching  away  the  last  veil  that 
hid  her  soul  and  her  sufferings  from  me,  they  showed  me  by 
how  many  links  she  was  bound  to  me  and  what  strong  chains 
I  had  broken  through. 

We  were  in  such  a  delirium  of  agitation  that  we  did  not 
observe  that  it  was  raining  in  torrents. 

"  Will  Madame  la  Comtesse  take  shelter  here  for  a  few  min- 
utes?" said  the  coachman,  pointing  to  the  principal  inn  of 
Ballan. 

She  nodded  consent  and  we  sat  for  about  half  an  hour 


THE  LILY  OF  THE   VALLEY.  237 

under  the  archway  of  the  entrance,  to  the  great  astonishment 
of  the  people  of  the  inn,  who  wondered  why  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  was  driving  about  the  country  at  eleven  o'clock  at 
night. 

Was  she  going  to  Tours  ?     Or  on  her  way  back  ? 

When  the  storm  was  over,  and  the  rain  had  settled  into 
what  is  called  in  Touraine  a  brouee,  a  heavy  mist  which  did  not 
hinder  the  moon  from  silvering  the  upper  strata  as  they  were 
swept  swiftly  past  by  the  higher  currents  of  wind,  the  coach- 
man went  out  and  turned  homeward,  to  my  great  joy. 

"  Go  the  way  I  told  you,"  said  the  Countess  gently. 

So  we  took  the  road  to  the  Landes  de  Charlemagne,  and 
there  the  rain  began  again.  Half-way  across  the  sandy  com- 
mon I  heard  Lady  Arabella's  pet  dog  barking.  A  horse  sud- 
denly dashed  out  from  under  a  clump  of  oaks,  crossed  the 
road  at  a  bound,  leaped  the  ditch  made  by  the  owners  to  show 
the  boundary  of  each  plot  where  the  soil  was  considered  worth 
cultivating,  and  Lady  Dudley  pulled  up  on  the  common  to  see 
the  carriage  pass. 

"  What  joy  thus  to  wait  for  one's  child  when  it  is  not  a 
sin  !  "  said  Henriette. 

The  dog's  barking  had  told  Lady  Dudley  that  I  was  in  the 
carriage ;  she  thought,  no  doubt,  that  I  had  come  to  fetch  her 
in  it,  in  consequence  of  the  bad  weather.  When  we  reached 
the  spot  where  the  Marchioness  was  waiting,  she  flew  along 
the  road  with  the  skill  in  horsemanship  for  which  she  is  noted 
and  which  Henriette  admired  as  a  marvel.  Arabella,  by  way 
of  a  pet  name,  called  me  only  by  the  last  syllable  of  Amedee, 
pronouncing  it  in  the  English  fashion,  and  on  her  lips  the  cry 
had  a  charm  worthy  of  a  fairy.  She  knew  that  I  alone  should 
understand  her  when  she  called  "  My  Dee." 

"It  is  he,  madame,"  answered  the  Countess,  looking,  in 
the  clear  moonlight,  at  the  whimsical  personage  whose  eager 
face  was  strangely  framed  in  long  locks  out  of  curl. 

You  know  how  swiftly  women   take  stock  of  each  other. 


238  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

The  Englishwoman  recognized  her  rival,  and  was  arrogantly 
English ;  she  comprehended  us  in  one  flash  of  English  scorn, 
and  vanished  on  the  heath  with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow. 

"Back  to  Clochegourde — fast,"  cried  the  Countess,  to 
whom  this  ruthless  glance  was  like  an  axe  at  her  heart. 

The  coachman  went  back  by  the  Chinon  road,  which  was 
better  than  that  by  Sach6.  When  the  carriage  was  on  the 
skirts  of  the  common  again  we  heard  the  mad  gallop  of  Ara- 
bella's horse  and  her  dog's  footsteps.  They  were  all  three 
hurrying  round  the  woods  on  the  other  side  of  the  heath. 

"She  is  going  away;  you  have  lost  her  forever!  "  said 
Henriette. 

"Well,"  replied  I,  "  let  her  go.  She  will  not  cost  me  a 
regret." 

"Oh,  poor  woman!"  cried  the  Countess,  with  compas- 
sionate horror.  "  But  where  is  she  going  ?  " 

"To  La  Grenadiere,  a  little  house  near  Saint-Cyr,"  said  I. 

"And  she  is  going  alone,"  said  Henriette,  in  a  tone  which 
told  me  that  all  women  make  common  cause  in  love  and 
never  desert  each  other. 

As  we  turned  into  the  Clochegourde  avenue,  Arabella's  dog 
barked  gleefully  and  ran  on  in  front  of  the  carriage. 

"  She  is  here  before  us  !  "  cried  the  Countess.  Then,  after 
a  pause,  she  added :  "I  never  saw  a  finer  woman.  What  a 
hand  !  What  a  figure  !  Her  complexion  shames  the  lily  and 
her  eyes  flash  like  diamonds.  But  she  rides  too  well ;  she 
must  love  to  exert  her  strength ;  I  fancy  she  is  energetic  and 
violent ;  then,  too,  she  seems  to  me  too  defiant  of  convention- 
ality, a  woman  who  recognizes  no  law  is  apt  to  listen  only  to 
her  own  caprice.  Those  who  are  so  anxious  to  shine,  to  be 
always  moving,  have  not  the  gift  of  constancy.  To  my  notions 
love  needs  greater  quietude  ;  I  picture  it  to  myself  as  an  im- 
mense lake  where  the  sounding-line  finds  no  bottom,  where 
the  tempests  may  indeed  be  wild,  but  rare,  and  restricted 
within  impassable  bounds — where  two  beings  dwell  on  an 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  239 

island  of  flowers,  far  from  the  world  whose  luxury  and  display 
would  repel  them. 

"  But  love  must  take  the  stamp  of  character.  I  am  perhaps 
mistaken.  If  the  elements  of  nature  yield  to  the  mould  im- 
pressed by  climate,  why  should  it  not  be  so  with  the  feelings 
of  individuals  ?  Feelings,  which  as  a  whole  obey  a  general 
law,  no  doubt  differ  in  expression  only.  Each  soul  has  its 
own  modes.  The  Marchioness  is  a  powerful  woman  who 
traverses  distances  and  acts  with  the  vigor  of  a  man  ;  jailers, 
wardens,  and  executioner  must  be  killed  to  deliver  her  lover. 
Whereas  certain  women  know  no  better  than  to  love  with  all 
their  soul ;  in  danger  they  kneel  down,  pray,  and  die. 

"Which  of  the  two  do  you  prefer?  That  is  the  whole 
question.  Yes,  the  Marchioness  loves  you  ;  she  sacrifices  so 
much  for  you  !  It  is  she,  perhaps,  who  will  love  on  when 
you  have  ceased  to  love  her." 

"  Permit  me,  dear  angel,  to  echo  the  question  you  asked 
the  other  day :  How  do  you  know  these  things  ?  " 

"  Each  form  of  suffering  brings  its  lesson,  and  I  have  suf- 
fered in  so  many  ways  that  my  knowledge  is  vast." 

My  servant  had  heard  the  order  given,  and,  expecting  that 
we  should  return  by  the  terraces,  he  held  my  horse  in  readi- 
ness, in  the  avenue.  Arabella's  dog  had  scented  the  horse, 
and  his  mistress,  led  by  very  legitimate  curiosity,  had  followed 
it  through  the  wood  where  she,  no  doubt,  had  been  lurking. 

"  Go  and  make  your  peace,"  said  Henriette,  smiling,  with 
no  trace  of  melancholy.  "  Tell  her  how  much  she  is  mis- 
taken as  to  my  intentions.  I  wanted  to  show  her  all  the  value 
of  the  prize  that  has  fallen  to  her ;  my  heart  has  none  but 
kindly  feelings  toward  her — above  all,  neither  anger  nor  scorn. 
Explain  to  her  that  I  am  her  sister,  and  not  her  rival." 

"I  will  not  go  !  "  cried  I. 

"  Have  you  never  experienced,"  said  she,  with  the  flashing 
pride  of  a  martyr,  "  that  certain  forms  of  consideration  may 
be  an  insult.  Go — go  !  " 


240  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

I  went  to  join  Lady  Dudley  and  find  out  what  humor  she 
was  in.  "  If  only  she  might  be  angry  and  throw  me  over," 
thought  I,  "I  would  return  to  Clochegourde. " 

The  dog  led  me  to  an  oak  tree  from  whence  the  Mar- 
chioness flew  off,  shouting  to  me,  "  Away,  away  !  " 

I  had  no  choice  but  to  follow  her  to  Saint-Cyr,  which  we 
reached  at  midnight. 

"The  lady  is  in  excellent  health,"  said  Arabella,  as  she 
dismounted. 

Only  those  who  have  known  her  can  conceive  of  the  sarcasm 
implied  in  this  observation  drily  flung  at  me  in  a  tone  that 
was  meant  to  convey :  "I  should  have  died." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  cast  any  of  your  three-barbed  witticisms 
at  Madame  de  Mortsauf,"  I  replied. 

*'  And  does  it  offend  your  grace  when  I  remark  on  the  per- 
fect health  enjoyed  by  one  so  dear  to  your  precious  heart  ? 
Frenchwomen,  it  is  said,  hate  even  their  lovers'  dogs ;  but 
in  England  we  love  everything  that  is  dear  to  our  sovereign 
lord,  we  hate  what  they  hate,  for  we  live  in  their  very  skin. 
Allow 'me  then  to  be  as  fond  of  that  lady  as  you  are.  Only, 
dear  boy,"  said  she,  throwing  her  arms  around  me,  all  wet 
from  the  rain,  "  if  you  were  faithless  to  me,  I  should  neither 
stand  up,  nor  lie  down,  nor  ride  in  a  carriage  with  men- 
servants  ;  neither  drive  through  the  Landes  de  Charlemagne, 
nor  over  the  heaths  of  any  country  in  the  world,  nor  be  in  my 
bed,  nor  under  the  roof  of  my  fathers,  /should  be  no  more. 

"I  was  born  in  Lancashire,  where  women  can  die  of  love. 
To  have  owned  you,  and  give  you  up?  I  will  give  you  up  to 
no  power  in  the  world,  not  even  to  death,  for  I  would  go 
with  you !  " 

She  took  me  into  her  room,  where  comfort  already  made 
its  presence  felt. 

"Love  her,  my  dear,"  said  I  warmly,  "  for  she  loves  you, 
and  not  ironically  but  sincerely." 

"  Sincerely,  child  ?  "  she  said,  unfastening  her  riding-habit. 


THE  LILY  OP   THE    VALLEY.  241 

With  a  lover's  vanity,  I  tried  to  make  this  arrogant  creature 
understand  the  sublimity  of  Henriette's  character.  While  the 
maid,  who  did  not  know  a  word  of  French,  was  dressing  her 
hair,  I  tried  to  describe  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  sketching  her 
life,  and  repeating  the  generous  thoughts  suggested  to  her  by 
a  crisis  in  which  all  women  are  petty  and  spiteful.  Though 
Arabella  affected  to  pay  not  the  slightest  attention,  she  did 
not  lose  a  word. 

"  I  am  delighted,"  said  she  when  we  were  alone,  "  to  know 
of  your  taste  for  this  style  of  Christian  conversation ;  there  is 
on  my  estate  a  curate  who  has  not  his  match  in  composing 
sermons,  our  laborers  can  understand  them,  so  well  is  his 
prose  adapted  to  his  audience.  I  will  write  to-morrow  to  my 
father  to  dispatch  this  worthy  by  steamer,  and  you  shall  find 
him  in  Paris.  When  once  you  have  heard  him  you  will  never 
want  to  listen  to  any  one  else,  all  the  more  so  because  he,  too, 
enjoys  perfect  health.  His  moralizing  will  give  you  none  of 
those  shocks  that  end  in  tears ;  it  flows  without  turmoil,  like 
a  limpid  brook,  and  secures  delightful  slumbers.  Every  even- 
ing, if  you  like,  you  can  satisfy  your  craving  for  sermons  while 
digesting  your  dinner. 

"  English  moralizing,  my  dear  boy,  is  as  superior  to  that  of 
Tours  as  our  cutlery,  our  plate,  and  our  horses  are  superior  to 
your  knives  and  your  animals.  Do  me  the  favor  of  hearing 
my  curate — promise  me.  I  am  but  a  woman,  my  dearest ;  I 
know  how  to  love,  how  to  die  for  you,  if  you  like  ;  but  I  have 
not  studied  at  Eton,  nor  at  Oxford,  nor  at  Edinburgh ;  I  am 
neither  doctor  nor  reverend ;  I  cannot  moralize  for  you,  I  am 
quite  unfit  for  it  and  should  be  to  the  last  degree  clumsy  if  I 
attempted  it. 

"I  do  not  complain  of  your  taste;  you  might  have  far 
more  degraded  tastes  than  this,  and  I  would  try  to  accommo- 
date myself  to  them ;  for  I  intend  that  you  should  find  with 
me  everything  you  like  best — the  pleasures  of  love,  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  table,  the  pleasures  of  church-going — good  claret 
16 


242  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

and  the  Christian  virtues.  Would  you  like  to  see  me  in  a 
hair-shirt  this  evening  ?  That  woman  is  happy  indeed  to  be 
able  to  supply  you  with  moralities !  In  what  university  do 
Frenchwomen  take  their  degree  ?  Poor  me  !  I  have  nothing 
to  give  you  but  myself,  I  am  only  a  slave " 

"  Then  why  did  you  fly  when  I  wanted  to  bring  you  two 
together?" 

"Are  you  mad,  my  Dee?  I  would  travel  from  Paris  to 
Rome  disguised  as  your  footman,  I  would  do  the  most  pre- 
posterous things  for  you ;  but  how  could  I  stop  to  talk  on 
the  highroad  to  a  woman  who  has  not  been  introduced  to  me, 
and  who  was  ready  with  a  sermon  under  three  heads  ?  I  can 
talk  to  peasants.  I  would  ask  a  workman  to  share  his  loaf 
with  me  if  I  were  hungry,  I  would  give  him  a  few  guineas, 
and  it  would  be  all  in  order ;  but  as  to  stopping  a  chaise — as 
highwaymen  do  in  England — that  is  not  included  in  my  code 
of  honor. 

"  My  poor  boy,  all  you  know  is  how  to  love  ;  and  you  do 
not  know  how  to  live  ?  Beside,  my  angel,  I  am  not  yet  made 
exactly  in  your  image.  I  have  no  taste  for  moralities.  How- 
ever, to  please  you,  I  am  capable  of  the  greatest  efforts. 
Come,  say  no  more,  I  will  set  to  work,  I  will  try  to  preach. 
I  will  never  allow  myself  to  caress  you  without  throwing  in  a 
text  from  the  Bible." 

She  exerted  all  her  power — used  it,  abused  it,  till  she  saw 
in  my  eyes  the  ardent  look  that  always  came  into  them  when 
she  began  her  enchantments.  She  triumphed  completely,  and 
I  submissively  agreed  to  set  above  the  vain  subtleties  of  the 
Catholic  Church  the  magnanimity  of  the  woman  who  wrecks 
herself,  renounces  all  future  hope  and  makes  love  her  sole 
virtue. 

"Does  she  love  herself  better  than  she  loves  you?"  she 
asked.  "  Does  she  prefer  to  you  something  which  is  not  you? 
How  can  a  woman  attach  any  importance  to  anything  in  her- 
self beyond  that  with  which  you  honor  it  ?  No  woman,  how- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  343 

ever  great  a  moralist  she  may  be,  can  be  the  equal  of  a  man. 
Walk  over  us,  kill  us,  never  let  us  encumber  your  life.  Our 
part  is  to  die,  yours  to  live  great  and  supreme.  In  your  hand 
is  the  poniard  ;  we  have  only  to  love  and  forgive.  Does  the 
sun  care  about  the  midges  that  live  in  his  beams,  by  his 
glow  ?  They  exist  as  long  as  they  can,  and  when  he  disap- 
pears they  die " 

"  Or  fly  away,"  I  put  in. 

"  Or  fly  away,"  she  replied,  with  an  indifference  that  would 
have  spurred  any  man  determined  to  use  the  strange  power 
she  attributed  to  us.  "  Do  you  think  it  worthy  of  a  woman 
to  stuff  a  man  with  bread  buttered  with  virtue  to  convince 
him  that  love  and  religion  are  incompatible  ?  Am  I  then  an 
infidel  ?  A  woman  may  yield  or  refuse ;  but  to  refuse  and 
preach  is  to  inflict  a  double  penalty,  which  is  against  the  law 
of  every  land.  Now  here  you  will  have  nothing  but  delicious 
sandwiches  prepared  by  the  hand  of  your  humble  servant 
Arabella,  whose  whole  morality  consists  in  inventing  caresses 
such  as  no  man  has  ever  known,  and  which  are  suggested  by 
the  angels." 

I  know  nothing  so  undoing  as  such  banter  in  the  hands  of 
an  Englishwoman  ;  she  throws  into  it  the  eloquent  gravity, 
the  pompous  air  of  conviction  under  which  the  English  cover 
the  lofty  imbecilities  of  their  prejudiced  views.  French  irony 
is  like  lace  with  which  women  dress  out  the  pleasure  they  give 
and  the  disputes  they  invent ;  it  is  a  trimming,  and-  as  graceful 
as  their  dress.  But  English  "  fun  "  is  an  acid  so  corrosive  to 
those  on  whom  it  falls  that  it  leaves  them  skeletons,  picked 
and  cleaned.  A  witty  Englishwoman's  tongue  is  like  a 
tiger's,  which  strips  off  the  flesh  to  the  very  bone,  and  all  in 
play ;  mockery,  that  all-powerful  weapon  of  the  devil's,  leaves 
a  deadly  poison  in  the  wounds  it  reopens  at  will. 

That  night  Arabella  chose  to  exert  her  power  like  the 
Grand  Turk,  who,  to  show  his  skill,  amuses  himself  with 
decapitating  innocent  persons. 


244  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"  My  angel,"  said  she,  when  she  had  soothed  me  to  the 
dozing  condition  in  which  everything  is  forgotten  but  a  sense 
of  happiness,  "  I  have  been  moralizing  too — I  myself !  I  was 
wondering  whether  I  am  committing  a  crime  in  loving  you, 
whether  I  was  violating  divine  laws,  and  I  decided  that  noth- 
ing could  be  more  pious  or  more  natural.  Why  should  God 
create  some  beings  more  beautiful  than  others  unless  to  show 
us  that  they  are  to  be  adored  ?  The  crime  would  not  be  to 
love  you,  for  are  you  not  an  angel  ?  That  lady  insults  you  by 
classing  you  with  other  men ;  the  rules  of  morality  do  not 
apply  to  you  ;  God  has  set  you  above  them.  Is  not  loving 
you  rising  to  be  nearer  to  Him  ?  Can  He  be  wroth  with  a 
poor  woman  for  longing  for  things  divine  ?  Your  large  and 
radiant  heart  is  so  like  the  sky  that  I  mistake  it,  as  midges 
come  to  burn  themselves  in  the  lights  at  a  festival  !  Are  they 
to  be  punished  for  their  mistake  ?  Indeed,  is  it  a  mistake  ? 
Is  it  not  too  fervent  a  worship  of  light  ?  They  perish  from 
too  much  piety — if,  indeed,  flinging  one's  self  into  the  arms 
we  love  can  be  called  perishing  ? 

"  I  am  weak  enough  to  love  you  while  that  woman  is  strong 
enough  to  remain  in  her  chapel !  Do  not  frown  on  me.  You 
think  I  condemn  her?  Nay,  child  !  I  delight  in  her  moral- 
ity, since  it  has  led  her  to  leave  you  free  and  so  allowed  me 
to  win  you  and  to  keep  you  for  ever — for  you  are  mine  for 
ever,  are  you  not  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"  For  ever  and  ever?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  grant  me  a  favor,  my  sultan.  I  alone  have  dis- 
cerned all  your  value.  She,  you  say,  cultivates  the  land  ?  I 
leave  that  to  the  farmers;  I  would  rather  cultivate  your 
heart." 

I  have  tried  to  recall  all  this  chatter  to  give  you  a  clear  idea 
of  this  woman,  to  justify  all  I  have  said  about  her  and  to  give 
you  a  clue  to  the  catastrophe.  But  how  am  I  to  describe  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  245 

accompaniment  to  the  sweet  words  you  know  so  well — con- 
ceits only  to  be  compared  to  the  most  extravagant  fictions  of 
our  dreams;  inventions  sometimes  reminding  me  of  my  nose- 
gays :  grace  united  to  strength,  tenderness  and  languid  softness 
contrasting  with  volcanic  eruptions  of  passions ;  the  most 
elaborate  modulations  of  music  applied  to  the  harmony  of 
our  delight,  the  most  insinuating  words  graced  with  charming 
ideas,  everything  most  poetical  that  wit  can  add  to  the 
pleasures  of  sense.  She  aimed  at  destroying  the  impression 
left  on  my  heart  by  Henriette's  chaste  reserve,  by  the  flashes 
of  her  own  impetuous  passion.  The  Marchioness  had  seen 
the  Countess  quite  as  well  as  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  seen 
her.  They  had  judged  each  other  clearly.  The  elaborate 
attack  planned  by  Arabella  showed  how  great  her  fears  had 
been  and  her  secret  admiration  for  her  rival. 

In  the  morning  I  found  her  with  eyes  full  of  tears ;  she 
had  not  slept. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  excess  of  love  may  militate  against  me/' 
said  she.  "I  give  you  all;  she,  cleverer  than  I,  still  has 
something  for  you  to  desire.  If  you  prefer  her,  think  no 
more  of  me  ;  I  will  not  bore  you  with  my  sufferings,  my  re- 
morse, my  sorrows — no,  I  will  go  to  die  far  away  from  you, 
like  a  plant  far  from  the  life-giving  sun." 

She  extracted  from  me  such  protestations  as  filled  her  with 
joy.  What  is  to  be  said  of  a  woman  who  weeps  in  the  morn- 
ing? A  hard  word  then  seems  brutal.  If  she  has  not  been 
denied  over  night,  we  must  need  tell  lies  in  the  morning,  for 
the  code  of  man  makes  such  falsehood  a  duty. 

"Well,  then,  I  am  happy,"  she  said,  wiping  away  her  tears. 
"  Go  back  to  her ;  I  do  not  wish  to  owe  you  to  the  vehemence 
of  my  love,  but  to  your  own  free  will.  If  you  come  back 
again  I  shall  believe  that  you  love  me  as  much  as  I  love  you, 
which  I  had  always  thought  impossible." 

She  managed  to  persuade  me  to  return  to  Clochegourde. 


246  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

How  false  the  situation  in  which  I  should  then  find  myself 
was  not  to  be  imagined  by  a  man  gorged  with  raptures.  If  I 
had  refused  to  go  to  Clochegourde,  Lady  Arabella  would  have 
won  the  day  at  Heririette's  expense.  Arabella  would  then 
carry  me  off  to  Paris.  Still,  to  go  thither  was  to  insult 
Madame  de  Mortsauf.  In  that  case  I  should  come  back  more 
certainly  than  ever  to  Arabella. 

Has  any  woman  forgiveness  for  such  crimes  of  treason? 
Short  of  being  an  angel  come  down  from  heaven  rather  than 
a  purified  spirit  about  to  attain  to  it,  a  loving  woman  would 
see  her  lover  suffer  any  agony  sooner  than  see  him  made 
happy  by  another.  The  more  she  loves,  the  more  she  will  be 
hurt. 

Thus  regarded  from  both  sides,  my  position,  when  I  had 
once  left  Clochegourde  to  go  to  La  Grenadiere,  was  as  fatal  to 
my  first  true  love  as  it  was  profitable  to  my  chance  passion. 
The  Marchioness  had  foreseen  it  all  with  deep  calculation. 
She  confessed  later  that  if  Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  not  met 
her  on  the  heath  she  had  intended  to  commit  me  by  hanging 
about  Clochegourde. 

The  instant  I  saw  the  Countess,  whom  I  found  pale  and 
stricken,  like  a  person  who  has  endured  intolerable  insomnia, 
I  exercised — not  the  tact — but  the  instinct  which  enables  a 
still  young  and  generous  heart  to  appreciate  the  full  bearing 
of  actions  that  are  criminal  in  the  jurisprudence  of  noble 
souls  though  indifferent  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar.  Suddenly, 
as  a  child  that  has  gone  down  a  steep  while  playing  and  pluck- 
ing flowers  sees,  in  terror,  that  he  cannot  go  up  it  again,  dis- 
cerns no  human  ground  but  at  an  immeasurable  distance,  feels 
himself  alone  in  the  dark  and  hears  savage  howls,  I  perceived 
that  a  whole  world  lay  between  us.  A  loud  cry  went  up  in 
our  souls,  an  echo,  as  it  were,  of  the  funereal  Consummatum 
est  which  is  pronounced  in  church  on  Good  Friday,  at  the 
hour  when  the  Saviour  died — a  dreadful  scene  which  freezes 


THE    LILY   OF  THE   VALLEY.  247 

those  young  souls  in  which  religion  is  their  first  love.  Every 
illusion  Henriette  had  known  had  died  under  one  blow  ;  her 
heart  had  gone  through  its  passion.  She  whom  pleasure  had 
never  involved  in  its  deadening  coils — could  she  suspect  the 
joys  of  happy  lovers  that  she  refused  to  look  at  me  ?  for  she 
would  not  shed  on  my  gaze  the  light  which  for  six  years  had 
irradiated  my  life.  She  knew,  then,  that  the  source  of  the 
beams  that  shone  from  our  eyes  lay  in  our  souls,  for  which 
they  were  as  a  pathway,  leading  from  one  to  the  other,  so  that 
they  might  visit,  become  one,  separate,  and  play — like  two 
confiding  girls  who  have  no  secrets  from  each  other.  I  was 
bitterly  conscious  of  the  sin  of  bringing  under  this  roof, 
where  caresses  were  unknown,  a  face  on  which  the  wings  of 
enjoyment  had  shed  their  sparkling  dust. 

If,  the  day  before,  I  had  left  Lady  Dudley  to  go  home 
alone ;  if  I  had  come  back  to  Clochegourde,  where  Henriette 
perhaps  expected  me ;  perhaps — well,  perhaps,  Madame  de 
Mortsauf  would  not  have  behaved  so  strictly  as  my  sister. 
She  gave  all  her  civilities  the  solemnity  of  exaggerated  em- 
phasis ;  she  played  her  part  to  excess  so  as  not  to  forget  it. 
During  breakfast  she  paid  me  a  thousand  little  attentions, 
humiliating  attentions ;  she  made  much  of  me  like  a  sick  man 
to  be  pitied. 

"You  were  out  betime,"  said  the  Count;  "  you  must  have 
a  fine  appetite,  you  whose  digestion  is  not  ruined." 

This  speech,  which  failed  to  bring  the  smile  of  a  wily  sister 
to  the  Countess'  lips,  put  the  crowning  touch  to  the  impossi- 
bility of  my  position.  I  could  not  be  at  Clochegourde  by 
day  and  at  Saint-Cyr  by  night.  Arabella  had  counted  on  my 
sense  of  delicacy  and  Madame  de  Mortsauf  s  magnanimity. 

All  through  that  long  day  I  felt  the  difficulty  of  becoming 
the  friend  of  a  woman  one  has  long  desired.  This  transition, 
simple  enough  when  years  have  led  up  to  it,  in  youth  is  a  dis- 
temper. I  was  ashamed,  I  cursed  all  pleasure,  I  wished  that 
Madame  de  Mortsauf  would  demand  my  blood  !  I  could  not 


248  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

tear  her  rival  to  pieces  before  her  eyes;  she  avoided  mention- 
ing her,  and  to  speak  ill  of  Arabella  was  a  baseness  which 
would  have  incurred  the  contempt  of  Henriette,  herself  noble 
and  lofty  to  the  inmost  core.  After  five  years  of  exquisite 
intimacy  we  did  not  know  what  to  talk  about ;  bur  words  did 
not  express  our  thoughts ;  we  hid  gnawing  pangs,  we  to  whom 
suffering  had  hitherto  been  a  faithful  interpreter.  Henriette 
affected  a  cheerful  air  on  my  behalf  and  her  own ;  but  she 
was  sad.  Though  she  called  herself  my  sister  on  every  oppor- 
tunity, and  though  she  was  a  woman,  she  could  find  no  sub- 
ject to  keep  up  the  conversation  and  we  sat  for  the  most  part 
in  awkward  silence.  She  added  to  my  mental  torment  by 
affecting  to  think  herself  Lady  Arabella's  only  victim. 

"I  am  suffering  more  than  you  are,"  I  said,  at  a  moment 
when  the  sister  spoke  in  a  tone  of  very  feminine  irony. 

"How  can  that  be?"  she  returned,  in  the  haughty  voice 
a  woman  can  put  on  when  her  feelings  are  underestimated. 

"I  have  done  all  the  wrong." 

Then  there  was  a  moment  when  the  Countess  assumed  a 
cold  indifference  that  was  too  much  for  me.  I  determined 

to  go- 
That  evening,  on  the  terrace,  I  took  leave  of  all  the  family 
together.     They   followed   me   to  the   lawn   where  my  horse 
waited,  pawing    the   ground.     They   stood    out  of  the  way. 
When  I  had  taken  the  bridle,  the  Countess  came  up  to  me. 
"  Come,  we  will  walk  down  the  avenue  alone,"  she  said. 
I  gave  her  my  arm,  and  we  went  out  through  the  court- 
yards, walking  slowly  as  if  lingering  over  the  sensation  of  mov- 
ing together ;  we  thus  reached  a  clump  of  trees  that  screened  a 
corner  of  the  outer  enclosure. 

"  Good-by,  my  friend,"  she  exclaimed,  stopping  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  my  neck  with  her  head  on  my  heart. 
"  Good-by,  we  shall  see  each  other  no  more.  God  has  given 
me  the  melancholy  power  of  looking  into  the  future.  Do 
you  remember  the  panic  that  came  over  me  that  day  when  you 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  249 

came  back  so  handsome,  so  youthful ;  and  when  I  saw  you 
turn  to  quit  me,  just  as  to-day  you  are  leaving  Clochegourde 
for  La  Grenadiere?  Well,  last  night  I  was  once  more  enabled 
to  look  forward  to  our  destinies.  My  friend,  we  are  speaking 
to  each  other  for  the  last  time.  I  can  hardly  say  a  few  words 
to  you  even  now,  for  not  all  of  me  speaks ;  death  has  already 
stricken  something  within  me.  You  will  have  robbed  my 
children  of  their  mother — take  her  place  !  You  can  !  Jacques 
and  Madeleine  love  you  already  as  though  you  had  made  them 
suffer!  " 

"Die?"  cried  I  in  alarm,  as  I  looked  at  the  dry  flame  in 
her  glittering  eyes,  of  which  I  can  only  give  an  idea  to  those 
whose  dear  ones  have  never  been  attacked  by 'the  dreadful 
malady  by  comparing  her  eyes  with  balls  of  tarnished  silver. 
"  Die !  Henriette,  I  command  you  to  live.  You  often  used  to 
require  vows  of  me — now  I,  to-day,  require  one  of  you :  swear 
to  me  that  you  will  consult  Origet  and  do  exactly  what  he 
tells  you." 

"  Then  would  you  contend  against  the  loving  mercy  of 
God?"  she  asked,  interrupting  me  with  a  cry  of  despair,  in- 
dignant at  being  misunderstood. 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me  enough  to  obey  me  blindly  in 
everything,  as  that  miserable  lady  does?" 

"Yes,  yes;  whatever  you  wish,"  she  replied,  urged  by  a 
jealousy  which  made  her  overleap  in  that  instant  the  distance 
she  had  till  now  preserved. 

"  I  stay  here,"  I  said,  kissing  her  eyes. 

Startled  by  this  capitulation  she  escaped  from  my  embrace 
and  went  to  lean  against  a  tree.  Then  she  turned  homeward, 
walking  very  fast  without  turning  her  head  ;  I  followed  her, 
she  was  praying  and  weeping.  When  we  reached  the  lawn  I 
took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  respectfully.  This  unlooked-for 
surrender  touched  her  heart. 

"Yours,  come  what  may,"  I  ejaculated.  "I  love  you  as 
your  aunt  loved  you." 


250  THE  LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

She  started  and  wrung  my  hand  with  the  most  fervent  af- 
fection. 

"  One  look,"  said  I,  "only  one  of  your  old  looks  !  "  And 
feeling  my  whole  soul  enlightened  by  the  flashing  glance  she 
gave  me,  I  cried,  "  The  woman  who  gives  herself  wholly 
gives  me  less  of  life  and  spirit  than  I  have  now  received  ! 
Henriette,  you  are  the  best  beloved — the  only  love." 

"  I  will  live,"  she  returned,  "  but  you,  too,  must  get  well." 

That  gaze  had  effaced  the  impression  of  Arabella's  sarcasms. 
Thus  was  I  the  plaything  of  the  two  irreconcilable  passions 
I  have  described  to  you,  and  of  which  I  felt  the  alternating 
influence.  I  loved  an  angel  and  a  demon  :  two  women  equally 
lovely;  one  graced  with  all  the  virtues  we  torture  out  of 
hatred  of  our  own  defects,  the  other  with  all  the  vices  we 
deify  out  of  selfishness.  As  I  rode  down  the  avenue,  turning 
around  again  and  again  to  see  Madame  de  Mortsauf  leaning 
against  a  tree,  her  children  standing  by  her  and  waving  their 
handkerchiefs,  I  detected  in  my  soul  an  impulse  of  pride  at 
knowing  myself  to  be  the  arbiter  of  two  such  noble  destinies, 
the  glory,  on  such  different  grounds,  of  two  superior  women, 
and  at  having  inspired  such  passions  that  either  of  them  would 
die  if  I  failed  her. 

This  brief  but  fatuous  dream  was  severely  punished,  believe 
me.  Some  demon  prompted  me  to  wait  with  Arabella  till  a 
fit  of  despair  or  the  Count's  death  should  throw  Henriette 
into  my  arms,  since  Henriette  still  loved  me  ;  her  severity, 
her  tears,  her  remorse,  and  her  Christian  resignation  were  the 
eloquent  symptoms  of  a  feeling  which  could  no  more  be  ef- 
faced from  her  heart  than  from  my  own.  As  I  slowly  walked 
my  horse  along  the  pretty  avenue,  making  these  reflections,  I 
was  not  five-and-twenty,  I  was  fifty.  Does  not  a  young  man, 
even  more  than  a  woman,  leap  in  a  moment  from  thirty  to  sixty  ? 

Though  I  could  drive  away  these  evil  thoughts  with  a  breath 
they  haunted  me,  I  must  confess.  Their  source,  perhaps,  was 
at  the  Tuileries  behind  the  panels  of  the  royal  cabinet.  Who 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  251 

could  come  unharmed  under  the  tainting  influence  of  Louis 
XVIII.,  who  was  wont  to  say  that  a  man  knows  nothing  of 
true  passion  till  he  is  past  maturity,  since  passion  is  never 
splendid  and  frenzied  till  there  is  some  loss  of  power  and 
each  pleasure  is  like  the  gambler's  last  stake. 

When  I  reached  the  end  of  the  avenue  I  looked  round  once 
more,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  I  was  back  again,  on 
seeing  Henriette  still  standing  there  alone.  I  flew  to  bid  her 
a  last  adieu,  bathed  in  tears  of  expiation  of  which  she  knew 
not  the  secret.  Sincere  tears,  shed,  though  I  knew  it  not,  on 
the  sweet  love  that  was  for  ever  past,  on  the  virgin  emotions, 
the  flowers  of  life  that  can  never  bloom  again.  Later  in  life 
a  man  can  no  longer  give,  he  only  receives  ;  what  he  loves  in 
his  mistress  is  himself;  whereas  in  youth  he  loves  her  in  him- 
self. Later,  he  inoculates  the  woman  who  loves  him  with 
his  tastes,  perhaps  with  his  vices  ;  whereas,  in  the  early  days, 
the  woman  he  loves  imparts  her  virtues,  her  refinement,  in- 
vites him  to  what  is  beautiful  by  her  smile  and  shows  him 
what  devotion  means  by  her  example. 

Alas  for  the  man  who  has  not  had  his  Henriette !  Alas  for 
him  who  has  not  met  a  Lady  Dudley  !  If  he  marries,  the 
second  will  fail  to  retain  his  wife,  the  first  may  perhaps  be 
deserted  by  his  mistress ;  happy  is  he  who  finds  both  in  one 
woman  ;  happy,  Natalie,  is  the  man  you  love  ! 

On  our  return  to  Paris  Arabella  and  I  became  more  inti- 
mate ;  by  small  degrees  we  insensibly  abrogated  the  laws  of 
propriety  to  which  I  had  subjected  myself — laws  whose  observ- 
ance often  leads  the  world  to  overlook  the  false  position  to 
which  Lady  Dudley  had  committed  herself.  The  world, 
which  dearly  loves  to  get  behind  the  curtain  of  things,  ac- 
cepts them  as  soon  as  it  knows  the  hidden  secret.  Lovers 
who  are  obliged  to  live  in  the  world  of  fashion  are  always 
wrong  to  break  down  the  barriers  insisted  on  by  the  common 
law  of  drawing-rooms,  wrong  not  to  obey  implicitly  all  the 


252  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

conventions  demanded  by  good  manners ;  more  for  their  own 
sake  than  for  that  of  others.  Distances  to  be  traversed,  super- 
ficial respect  to  be  maintained,  comedies  to  be  played  out, 
mystery  to  be  kept  up — all  the  strategy  of  a  happy  love-affair 
fills  up  life,  revives  desire  and  preserves  the  heart  from  the 
lassitude  of  habit.  But  a  first  passion,  like  a  young  man,  is 
by  nature  profligate  and  cuts  down  its  timber  recklessly,  in- 
stead of  economizing  its  resources. 

Arabella  scorned  such  commonplace  ideas  and  submitted  to 
them  only  to  please  me.  Like  the  destroyer  who  marks  his 
prey  beforehand  to  secure  it,  she  hoped  to  compromise  me  in 
tie  eyes  of  all  Paris  so  as  to  attach  me  to  her  permanently. 
She  displayed  every  coquettish  art  to  keep  me  at  the  house, 
for  she  was  not  satisfied  with  the  elegant  scandal  which,  for 
lack  of  evidence,  countenanced  nothing  more  than  whisper- 
ings behind  a  fan.  Seeing  her  so  anxious  to  commit  an  im- 
prudence which  must  definitely  certify  her  position,  how  could 
I  do  otherwise  than  believe  in  her  love  ? 

Once  involved  in  the  beguilements  of  an  illicit  union  I  fell 
a  prey  to  despair,  for  I  saw  my  life  cut  out  in  antagonism  to 
received  ideas  and  to  Henriette's  injunctions.  I  lived,  then, 
in  the  sort  of  frenzy  which  comes  over  a  consumptive  man, 
when,  conscious  of  his  approaching  end,  he  will  not  allow  his 
breathing  to  be  sounded.  There  was  one  corner  of  my  heart 
I  could  not  look  into  without  anguish ;  a  spirit  of  vengeance 
was  constantly  suggesting  ideas  on  which  I  dared  not  dwell. 

My  letters  to  Henriette  painted  this  mental  disorder,  and 
caused  her  infinite  pain. 

"At  the  cost  of  so  much  lost  treasure  she  had  hoped  I 
should  at  least  be  happy,"  she  wrote,  in  the  only  reply  I  ever 
received. 

And  I  was  not  happy !  Dear  Natalie,  happiness  can  only 
be  positive;  it  cannot  endure  comparisons.  My  first  ardor 
expended,  I  could  not  help  comparing  these  two  women,  a 
contrast  I  had  not  yet  been  capable  of  studying.  In  fact,  any 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  253 

great  passion  lies  so  heavily  on  our  whole  nature  that,  in  the 
first  instance,  it  levels  all  angles  and  fills  up  the  ruts  of  habit 
which  represent  our  good  or  evil  qualities.  But  later,  in 
lovers  who  are  thoroughly  accustomed  to  each  other,  the 
features  of  their  moral  physiognomy  reappear;  they  judge 
each  other  calmly,  and  not  unfrequently,  in  the  course  of  this 
reaction  of  character  on  passion,  antipathies  are  discovered 
which  lead  to  the  separations  regarded  by  superficial  minds  as 
evidence  of  the  inconstancy  of  the  human  heart. 

This  stage  had  begun  for  us.  Less  dazzled  by  her  fascina- 
tions, and  taking  my  pleasures  retail,  so  to  speak,  I,  half 
involuntarily  perhaps,  took  stock  of  Lady  Dudley  to  her 
disadvantage. 

In  the  first  place,  I  found  her  lacking  in  the  mother-wit 
which  distinguishes  the  Frenchwoman  from  all  others  and 
makes  her  the  most  delightful  to  love,  as  men  have  owned 
who  have  had  opportunities  for  judging  of  the  women  of 
many  lands.  When  a  Frenchwoman  loves  she  is  metamor- 
phosed ;  her  much  talked-of  vanity  is  devoted  to  beautifying 
her  love;  she  sacrifices  her  dangerous  conceit  and  throws  all 
her  pretentiousness  into  the  art  of  loving.  She  weds  her 
lover's  interests,  his  hatreds,  his  friendships;  in  one  day  she 
masters  the  experienced  shrewdness  of  a  man  of  business;  she 
studies  the  law;  she  understands  the  machinery  of  credit  and 
can  seduce  a  banker's  counting-hous'e ;  reckless  and  prodigal, 
she  will  not  make  a  single  blunder  or  waste  a  single  louis. 
She  is  at  once  mother,  housekeeper,  and  physician ;  and  to 
every  fresh  phase  she  gives  a  grace  of  delight  that  betrays 
infinite  love  in  the  most  trifling  details.  She  combines  the 
special  qualities  which  charm  us  in  the  women  of  various 
countries,  giving  unity  to  the  compound  by  wit,  the  growth 
of  France,  which  vivifies,  sanctions,  and  justifies  everything, 
lends  variety,  and  redeems  the  monotony  of  a  sentiment  based 
on  the  present  tense  of  a  single  verb. 

The  Frenchwoman  loves  once  for  all;  without  pause  or 


254  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

fatigue,  at  all  hours,  in  public  or  alone ;  in  public  she  finds  a 
tone  that  argues  to  qne  ear  only,  her  very  silence  speaks,  and 
her  eyes  appeal  to  you  without  looking  up ;  if  speech  and 
looks  are  alike  prohibited  she  can  use  the  sand  under  her  feet 
to  trace  a  thought  in  ;  alone  she  expresses  her  passion  even  in 
her  sleep ;  in  short,  she  bends  the  world  to  her  love. 

The  Englishwoman,  on  the  contrary,  bends  her  love  to  the 
world.  Accustomed  by  education  to  preserve  the  icy  man- 
ners, the  egotistic  British  mien  of  which  I  have  told  you,  she 
opens  and  shuts  her  heart  with  the  readiness  of  English-made 
machinery.  She  has  an  impenetrable  mask  which  she  takes 
on  and  off  with  phlegmatic  coolness  ;  as  impassioned  as  an 
Italian  when  no  eye  can  see,  she  turns  coldly  dignified  as  soon 
as  the  world  looks  on.  Then  the  man  she  loves  best  on  earth 
doubts  his  power  as  he  meets  the  utterly  passive  counte- 
nance, the  calm  intonation,  the  perfect  freedom  of  expression 
that  an  Englishwoman  assumes  as  she  comes  out  of  her 
boudoir.  At  such  a  moment  dissimulation  becomes  indiffer- 
ence ;  the  Englishwoman  has  forgotten  everything.  Certainly, 
a  woman  who  can  throw  off  her  love  like  a  garment  makes 
one  think  that  she  may  change. 

What  storms  toss  the  surges  of  the  heart  when  they  are 
stirred  by  wounded  self-love,  as  we  see  a  woman  taking  up 
her  love,  laying  it  down  and  returning  to  it,  like  a  piece  of 
needlework  !  Such  women  are  too  thoroughly  mistresses  of 
themselves  to  be  wholly  yours ;  they  allow  the  world  too 
much  influence  for  your  sovereignty  to  be  undivided.  In 
cases  when  a  Frenchwoman  comforts  the  sufferer  by  a  look 
or  betrays  her  annoyance  at  intrusion  by  some  lively  jest,  the 
Englishwoman's  silence  is  complete  :  it  frets  the  soul  and  irri- 
tates the  brain.  These  women  are  so  accustomed  to  reign 
wherever  they  may  be,  that,  to  most  of  them,  the  omnipotence 
of  fashion  dominates  even  their  pleasures. 

Those  who  are  excessive  in  prudery  should  be  excessive  in 
love ;  Englishwomen  are  so ;  they  throw  everything  into  form, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  255 

but  the  love  of  form  does  not,  in  them,  produce  a  feeling  for 
art ;  they  may  say  what  they  will,  Protestantism  and  Cathol- 
icism account  for  the  differences  which  give  to  a  Frenchwom- 
an's spirit  so  great  a  superiority  over  the  reasoned,  calculating 
love  of  Englishwomen.  Protestantism  is  skeptical,  it  examines 
and  kills  belief;  it  is  the  death  of  art  and  of  love.  Where 
the  world  rules  the  people  of  the  world  must  obey ;  but  those 
who  know  what  passion  means  flee  away ;  to  them  it  is  intol- 
erable. 

You  may  understand,  then,  how  much  my  self-respect  was 
wounded  by  discovering  that  Lady  Dudley  would  not  live 
without  the  world,  and  that  these  British  transitions  were 
habitual  with  her.  They  were  not  a  necessity  imposed  on  her 
by  the  world;  no,  she  naturally  showed  herself  under  two 
aspects  adverse  to  each  other ;  when  she  loved  it  was  with 
intoxication ;  no  woman  of  any  nationality  could  be  com- 
pared with  her,  she  was  as  good  as  a  whole  seraglio ;  but  then 
a  curtain  fell  on  this  fairy  display  and  shut  out  even  the  remem- 
brance of  it.  She  would  respond  neither  to  a  look  nor  a 
smile  ;  she  was  neither  mistress  nor  slave ;  she  behaved  like 
an  ambassadress  compelled  to  be  precise  in  her  phrases  and 
demeanor ;  she  put  me  out  of  patience  with  her  calmness,  out- 
raged my  heart  by  her  primness ;  she  thus  stored  up  her  love 
till  it  was  required,  instead  of  raising  it  to  the  ideal  by  enthu- 
siasm. In  which  of  the  two  women  was  I  to  believe? 

I  felt  by  a  myriad  pin-pricks  the  infinite  difference  that 
divided  Henriette  from  Arabella.  When  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  left  me  for  a  few  minutes  she  seemed  to  charge  the  air 
with  the  care  of  speaking  of  her;  as  she  went  away  the  sweep 
of  her  gown  appealed  to  my  eyes,  as  its  rippling  rustle  came 
to  my  ear  when  she  came  back  ;  there  was  infinite  tenderness 
in  the  way  her  eyelids  unfolded  when  she  looked  down  ;  her 
voice,  her  musical  voice,  was  a  continual  caress ;  her  speech 
bore  witness  to  an  ever-present  thought;  she  was  always  the 
same.  She  did  not  divide  her  soul  between  two  atmospheres, 


256  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

one  burning  and  the  other  icy  ;  in  short,  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  kept  her  wit  and  the  bloom  of  her  intelligence  to  express 
her  feelings,  she  made  herself  fascinating  to  her  children  and 
to  me  by  the  ideas  she  uttered.  Arabella's  wit  did  not  serve 
her  to  make  life  pleasant,  she  did  not  exert  it  for  my  benefit, 
it  existed  only  by  and  for  the  world  ;  it  was  purely  satirical, 
she  loved  to  rend  and  bite,  not  for  the  fun  of  it,  but  to 
gratify  a  craving.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  would  have  hidden 
her  happiness  from  every  eye ;  Lady  Arabella  wanted  to  show 
hers  to  all  Paris,  and  yet  with  horrible  dissimulation  she  main- 
tained the  proprieties  even  while  riding  with  me  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne. 

This  mixture  of  ostentation  and  dignity,  of  love  and  cold- 
ness, was  constantly  chafing  my  soul  that  was  at  once  virgin 
and  impassioned,  and  as  I  was  incapable  of  thus  rushing  from 
one  mood  to  another  my  temper  suffered  ;  I  was  throbbing 
with  love  when  she  relapsed  into  conventional  prudery. 
When  I  ventured  to  complain,  not  without  the  greatest  defer- 
ence, she  turned  her  three-barbed  tongue  on  me,  mingling 
the  rhodomontade  of  adoration  with  the  English  wit  I  have 
tried  to  describe.  As  soon  as  she  found  herself  in  antagonism 
to  me  she  made  a  sport  of  wounding  my  heart  and  humili- 
ating my  mind,  and  moulded  me  like  dough.  To  my  remarks 
as  to  a  medium  to  be  observed  in  all  things,  she  retorted  by 
caricaturing  my  ideas  and  carrying  them  to  extremes.  If  I 
reproached  her  for  her  conduct,  she  would  ask  me  if  I  wanted 
her  to  embrace  me  under  the  eyes  of  all  Paris — at  the  Italian 
opera — and  she  took  the  matter  so  seriously  that  I,  knowing 
her  mania  for  making  herself  talked  about,  quaked  lest  she 
should  fulfill  her  words. 

In  spite  of  her  real  passion,  I  never  felt  in  her  anything 
sacred,  reserved,  and  deep,  as  in  Henriette ;  she  was  as  insa- 
tiable as  a  sandy  soil.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  always 
composed ;  she  felt  my  soul  in  an  accent  or  a  glance,  while 
the  Marchioness  was  never  overpowered  by  a  look,  by  a  pres- 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  257 

sure  of  the  hand,  or  a  murmured  word.  Nay,  more,  the 
happiness  of  yesterday  was  as  nothing  on  the  morrow.  No 
proof  of  love  ever  surprised  her;  she  had  such  a  craving  for 
excitement,  turmoil,  and  show  that  nothing,  I  imagine,  came 
up  to  her  ideal  in  these  points  ;  hence  her  frenzied  excesses 
of  passion ;  it  was  for  her  own  sake,  not  for  mine,  that  she 
indulged  her  extravagant  fancies. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf's  letter,  the  beacon  that  still  shone  on 
my  path,  and  showed  how  the  most  virtuous  wife  can  obey 
her  genius  as  a  Frenchwoman  by  proving  her  perpetual  vigi- 
lance, her  unfailing  comprehension  of  all  my  vicissitudes — 
that  letter  must  have  enlightened  you  as  to  the  care  with 
which  Henriette  kept  watch  over  my  material  interests,  my 
political  connections,  my  moral  conquests  and  her  intimate 
interest  in  my  life  in  all  permitted  ways. 

On  all  these  points  Lady  Dudley  affected  the  reserve  of  a 
mere  acquaintance.  She  never  inquired  as  to  my  doings,  nor 
my  aversions  or  friendships  with  men.  Lavish  for  herself, 
without  being  generous,  she  decidedly  made  too  little  distinc- 
tion between  interest  and  love ;  whereas,  without  having 
tested  her,  I  knew  that,  to  spare  me  a  regret,  Henriette  would 
have  found  for  me  what  she  would  never  have  sought  for  her- 
self. In  one  of  those  catastrophes  which  may  befall  the 
highest  and  the  wealthiest — history  has  many  instances — I 
should  have  taken  counsel  of  Henriette,  but  I  would  have 
been  dragged  to  prison  rather  than  say  a  word  to  Lady 
Dudley. 

So  far  the  contrast  is  based  on  feelings,  but  it  was  equally 
great  with  regard  to  externals.  In  France  luxury  is  the  ex- 
pression of  the  man,  the  reproduction  of  his  ideas,  of  his 
personal  poetry ;  it  represents  the  character,  and,  between 
lovers,  gives  value  to  the  most  trifling  attentions  by  drawing 
out  the  ruling  idea  of  the  one  we  love ;  but  English  luxury, 
which  had  bewitched  me  by  its  selectness  and  refinement,  was 
as  mechanical  as  the  rest.  Lady  Dudley  infused  nothing  of 
17 


268  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

herself  into  it ;  it  was  the  work  of  her  servants — bought,  paid 
for.  The  thousand  comforting  attentions  at  Clochegourde 
were  in  Arabella's  eyes  the  concern  of  the  servants;  each  had 
his  duty  and  special  function.  The  choice  of  good  footmen 
was  her  steward's  business,  just  as  if  they  were  horses.  This 
woman  felt  no  attachment  to  those  about  her;  the  death  of 
the  best  of  them  would  not  have  affected  her ;  another,  equally 
well  trained,  was  to  be  had  for  money.  As  to  her  fellows,  I 
never  saw  a  tear  in  her  eye  for  the  woes  of  others ;  indeed, 
there  was  a  frank  selfishness  about  her  which  it  was  impossible 
not  to  laugh  at. 

The  crimson  robe  of  a  great  lady  covered  this  iron  soul. 
The  exquisite  almec  who,  in  the  evening,  lounged  on  her  rugs 
and  rang  all  the  tinkling  bells  of  amorous  folly,  could  quickly 
reconcile  a  young  man  to  the  hard  and  unfeeling  English- 
woman ;  indeed,  it  was  only  step  by  step  that  I  discerned  the 
volcanic  rock  on  which  I  was  wasting  my  labors,  since  it  could 
never  yield  a  harvest. 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  had  read  this  nature  at  a  glance  in 
their  brief  meeting;  I  remembered  her  prophetic  words. 
Henriette  was  right  throughout :  Arabella's  love  was  becoming 
intolerable.  I  have  since  noticed  that  women  who  ride  well 
are  never  tender ;  like  the  Amazons  they  have  lost  a  breast, 
and  their  hearts  are  petrified  in  one  spot,  I  know  not  which. 

Just  when  I  was  beginning  to  feel  the  weight  of  this  yoke, 
when  weariness  was  stealing  over  me,  body  and  soul,  when  I 
understood  how  great  a  sanctity  true  feeling  can  give  to  love, 
and  when  the  memories  of  Clochegourde  were  too  much  for 
me  as,  in  spite  of  the  distance,  I  smelt  the  perfume  of  its 
roses,  heard  the  song  of  its  nightingales — at  the  moment  when 
I  first  perceived  the  stony  bed  of  the  torrent  under  its  dimin- 
ished flood — I  had  a  blow  which  still  echoes  in  my  life,  for  it 
is  repeated  every  hour. 

I  was  writing  in  the  King's  private  room ;  he  was  to  go  out 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  259 

/ 

at  four  o'clock ;  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt  was  in  waiting.  As 
he  came  into  the  room  the  King  asked  for  news  of  the  Coun- 
tess. I  looked  up  hastily  with  a  too  significant  gesture,  and 
the  King,  startled  by  my  eagerness,  gave  me  the  look  which 
commonly  introduced  the  stern  words  he  could  speak  on  occa- 
sion. 

"  Sire,  my  poor  daughter  is  dying,"  replied  the  Duke. 

"  Will  your  majesty  condescend  to  grant  me  leave  of  ab- 
sence?" said  I,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  risking  an  outburst 
of  wrath. 

"Fly,  my  lord!"  replied  he,  smiling  at  the  irony  he  had 
infused  into  the  words,  and  letting  me  off  a  reprimand  in 
honor  of  his  own  wit. 

The  Duke,  more  a  courtier  than  a  father,  asked  for  no  leave, 
but  got  into  the  carriage  with  the  King.  I  went  off,  without 
saying  good-by  to  Lady  Dudley,  who  by  good  luck  was  not  at 
home,  and  for  whom  I  left  a  note  saying  that  I  was  called 
away  on  the  King's  service.  At  La  Croix  de  Berny  I  met  his 
majesty  returning  from  Verrieres.  As  he  accepted  a  bouquet 
which  he  dropped  at  his  feet,  the  King  gave  me  a  look  full  of 
the  royal  irony  that  is  so  crushingly  piercing,  and  which  was 
as  much  as  to  say:  "If  you  mean  to  become  a  somebody  in 
political  life,  come  back.  Do  not  amuse  yourself  with  inter- 
viewing the  dead !  " 

The  Duke,  from  his  carriage,  waved  me  a  melancholy  signal 
with  his  hand. 

The  two  gorgeous  coaches,  drawn  by  eight  horses,  the 
colonels  in  gold  lace,  the  mounted  escort,  and  the  clouds  of 
dust  whirled  swiftly  past  to  cries  of  "Vive  le  roi !  "  (Long 
live  the  King  !  )  And  to  me  it  was  as  though  the  court  had 
trampled  the  body  of  Madame  de  Mortsauf  under  foot,  with 
the  indifference  of  nature  herself  to  human  disaster.  Though 
he  was  an  excellent  good  fellow,  the  Duke,  I  make  no  doubt, 
went  off  to  play  whist  with  MONSIEUR  (the  Dauphin)  after 
the  King  had  retired.  As  to  the  Duchess,  it  was  she,  and  she 


260  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

alone,  who  long  since  had  dealt  her  daughter  the  first  death- 
blow by  telling  her  about  Lady  Dudley. 

My  hasty  journey  was  like  a  dream,  but  it  was  the  dream 
of  the  ruined  gambler ;  I  was  in  despair  at  having  had  no 
news.  Had  her  confessor  carried  severity  to  the  point  of  for- 
bidding my  entering  Clochegourde  ?  I  accused  Madeleine, 
Jacques,  the  Abb6  de  Dominis,  everybody,  even  to  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf. 

After  passing  Tours,  as  I  turned  off  to  the  bridges  of  Saint- 
Sauveur,  to  go  down  the  road  that  leads  to  Poncher  between 
poplars — those  poplars  I  had  admired  when  I  set  out  in  search 
of  my  unknown  fair — I  met  Monsieur  Origet.  He  guessed 
that  I  was  going  to  Clochegourde,  I  guessed  that  he  was  com- 
ing from  it ;  we  stopped  our  chaises  and  got  out,  I  to  ask 
news  and  he  to  give  it. 

"  Well,"  I  asked,  "  how  is  Madame  de  Mortsauf?  " 

"I  doubt  if  you  will  find  her  alive,"  said  he.  "She  is 
enduring  a  terrible  death  from  inanition.  When  she  sent  for 
me,  in  the  month  of  June  last,  no  medical  power  could  con- 
trol the  malady ;  she  had  all  the  symptoms  which  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  must  have  described  to  you,  since  he  fancied  he 
was  suffering  from  them.  The  Countess  was  no  longer  at  the 
stage  of  a  transient  attack  due  to  an  internal  disorder  which 
medicine  can  deal  with,  and  which  may  had  to  an  improved 
condition,  nor  was  she  suffering  from  a  beginning  of  acute 
illness  which  may  be  cured  in  time ;  her  disease  had  already 
reached  a  point  at  which  our  art  is  useless  ;  it  is  the  incurable 
result  of  some  sorrow,  as  a  mortal  wound  is  the  result  of  a 
poniard  thrust.  The  malady  is  produced  by  the  torpor  of  an 
organ  as  indispensable  to  life  as  the  action  of  the  heart.  Grief 
had  done  the  work  of  the  dagger.  Be  under  no  mistake. 
What  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  dying  of  is  some  unconfessed 
sorrow." 

"Unconfessed?"  said  I.  "Her  children  have  not  been 
ill?" 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  261 

"  No,"  said  he,  looking  at  me  with  meaning.  "  And  since 
she  has  been  so  seriously  ill,  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  has  left 
her  in  peace.  I  can  be  of  no  further  use;  Monsieur  Deslandes 
from  Azay  can  do  everything.  There  is  no  remedy,  and  her 
sufferings  are  terrible.  Rich,  young,  handsome — and  she  is 
dying  aged  and  pinched  by  hunger,  for  she  will  die  of  starva- 
tion. For  the  last  forty  days  the  stomach  is  closed,  as  it  were, 
and  rejects  every  kind  of  food  in  whatever  form  it  is  given." 

Monsieur  Origet  pressed  the  hand  I  offered  him  ;  he  had 
almost  asked  for  it  by  a  respectful  movement. 

"Courage,  monsieur,"  said  he,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

The  words  expressed  compassion  for  the  sorrow  he  sup- 
posed me  to  share  equally  with  him ;  he  had  no  suspicion  of 
the  poisoned  dart  they  bore,  like  an  arrow  piercing  my  heart. 
I  hastily  got  into  my  carriage  again,  promising  the  postillion 
a  handsome  reward  if  he  made  good  haste. 

In  spite  of  my  impatience,  I  fancied  I  had  made  the  jour- 
ney in  only  a  few  minutes,  so  much  was  I  absorbed  by  the 
bitter  reflections  that  crowded  on  my  soul.  "  She  is  dying 
of  grief — and  yet  her  children  are  well !  then  I  am  the  cause 
of  her  death  !  "  My  threatening  conscience  underwent  one 
of  those  examinations  which  echo  through  life,  and  sometimes 
beyond  it.  How  feeble,  now  impotent  is  human  justice !  It 
punishes  none  but  visible  crimes.  Why  death  and  disgrace  to 
the  assassin  who  kills  with  a  single  blow,  who  generally 
comes  upon  you  in  your  sleep  and  leaves  you  to  sleep  for  ever, 
or  who  strikes  you  unexpectedly  and  spares  you  the  agony  of 
death  ?  Why  a  happy  life  and  the  world's  respect  for  the 
murderer  who  pours  venom  drop  by  drop  into  the  soul  and 
undermines  the  body  to  destroy  it  ?  How  many  assassins  go 
unpunished  !  What  deference  for  superior  lives !  What  an 
acquittal  for  the  homicide  caused  by  moral  persecution  ! 

Some  unknown  and  avenging  hand  suddenly  lifted  the 
painted  curtain  that  veils  society.  I  saw  a  number  of  such 
victims,  as  well  known  to  you  as  to  me.  Madame  de  Beau- 


262  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

scant,  who  had  set  out,  dying,  for  Normandy  a  few  days 
before  my  departure ;  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  compromised ! 
Lady  Brandon  gone  to  Touraine  to  die  in  the  humble  dwell- 
ing where  Lady  Dudley  had  just  spent  a  fortnight — killed — 
by  what  terrible  disaster  you  know.  Our  age  is  full  of  events 
of  the  kind.  Who  does  not  know  the  story  of  the  poor  young 
wife  who  poisoned  herself,  overcome  by  such  jealousy  as 
perhaps  was  killing  Madame  de  Mortsauf?  Who  has  not 
shuddered  at  the  fate  of  the  charming  girl  dying,  like  a  flower 
Cankered  by  a  gad-fly,  after  two  years  of  married  life,  the 
victim  of  her  guileless  ignorance,  the  victim  of  a  wretch  with 
whom  Ronquerolles,  Montriveau,  and  de  Marsay  shake  hands 
because  he  helps  them  in  their  political  schemes?  Has  not 
Madame  d'Aiglemont  been  on  the  very  verge  of  the  grave  ? 
Would  she  be  alive  now  but  for  my  brother's  care  ? 

Science  is  the  world's  accomplice  in  these  crimes,  for  which 
there  is  no  tribunal.  No  one,  it  would  seem,  ever  dies  of 
grief,  or  despair,  or  love,  or  hidden  poverty,  or  hopes  fruit- 
lessly cherished,  perpetually  uprooted  and  replanted  !  The 
new  nomenclature  has  ingenious  words  that  account  for  every- 
thing: gastritis,  pericarditis,  the  thousand  feminine  ailments 
of  which  the  names  are  spoken  in  a  whisper,  are  mere  pass- 
ports to  the  coffin  on  which  hypocritical  tears  are  shed,  to  be 
soon  wiped  away  by  the  lawyer. 

Is  there  behind  all  this  woe  some  law  of  which  we  know 
nothing?  Must  the  man  who  lives  to  a  hundred  ruthlessly 
strew  the  ground  with  the  dead  and  see  everything  destroyed 
that  he  may  live,  just  as  the  millionaire  absorbs  the  efforts  of 
a  thousand  minor  industries  ?  Is  there  a  strong  and  venomous 
type  of  life  which  is  fed  on  these  sweet  and  gentle  creatures  ? 
Good  God  !  Was  I  then  one  of  that  race  of  tigers  ?  Remorse 
clawed  at  my  heart  with  burning  fingers  and  tears  ran  down 
my  cheeks  as  I  turned  into  the  avenue  to  Clochegourde,  on 
a  damp  October  morning  that  brought  the  dead  leaves  down 
from  the  poplars  planted  under  Henriette's  directions — that 


MADELEINE,  JACQUES,  AND  THE  ABBE  DE  DOMINIS 
KNEELING  AT  THE  FOOT  OF  A  WOODEN  CROSS. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  263 

avenue  where  I  had  seen  her  wave  her  handkerchief  as  though 
to  call  me  back. 

Was  she  still  alive  ?  Might  I  yet  feel  her  two  white  hands 
laid  on  my  prostrate  head  ?  In  that  moment  I  paid  the  price 
of  every  pleasure  Arabella  had  given  me,  and  I  thought  them 
dearly  bought !  I  swore  never  to  see  her  again  and  took  an 
aversion  for  England.  Though  Lady  Dudley  is  a  distinct 
variety  of  the  species,  I  involved  every  Englishwoman  in  the 
black  cerecloth  of  my  condemnation. 

On  entering  the  grounds  I  had  another  shock.  I  found 
Madeleine,  Jacques,  and  the  Abbe  de  Dominis  all  kneeling  at 
the  foot  of  a  wooden  cross  that  stood  on  the  corner  of  a  plot 
of  ground  which  had  been  included  in  the  park  at  the  time 
when  the  gate  was  erected.  Neither  the  Count  nor  the 
Countess  had  wished  to  remove  it.  I  sprang  out  of  the  chaise, 
went  up  to  them  bathed  in  tears,  my  heart  wrung  at  the  sight 
of  these  two  young  things  and  the  solemn  priest  beseeching 
God.  The  old  huntsman  was  there,  too,  standing  bareheaded 
a  few  paces  away. 

"Well,  monsieur?"  said  I  to  the  abbe  as  I  kissed  Made- 
leine and  Jacques  on  the  brow ;  but  they  gave  me  a  cold 
glance  and  did  not  interrupt  their  prayers. 

The  abbe  arose ;  I  took  his  arm  to  lean  on  him,  pleadingly 
asking  him :  "Is  she  still  living  ?  "  He  bent  his  head  mildly 
and  sadly. 

"  Speak,  I  entreat  you,  in  the  name  of  our  Saviour's  Pas- 
sion !  Why  are  you  praying  at  the  foot  of  this  cross  ?  Why 
are  you  here  and  not  with  her  ?  Why  are  the  children  out 
in  this  cold  morning  ?  Tell  me  everything,  that  I  may  not 
blunder  fatally  in  my  ignorance." 

"  For  some  days  past  Madame  la  Comtesse  will  only  see 
her  children  at  fixed  hours.  Monsieur,"  he  went  on  after  a 
pause,  "  you  may  perhaps  have  to  wait  some  hours  before  you 
can  see  Madame  de  Mortsauf :  she  is  terribly  altered  !  But 
it  will  be  well  to  prepare  her  for  the  interview ;  you  might 


264  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

cause  her  some  increase  of  suffering — as  to  death,  it  would  be 
a  mercy  !  " 

I  pressed  the  holy  man's  hand ;  his  look  and  voice  touched 
a  wound  without  reopening  it. 

"  We  are  all  praying  for  her  here,"  he  went  on,  "  for  she, 
so  saintly,  so  resigned,  so  fit  to  die,  has  for  the  last  few  days 
had  a  secret  horror  of  death  ;  she  looks  at  us  who  are  full  of 
life  with  eyes  in  which,  for  the  first  time,  there  is  an  expres- 
sion of  gloom  and  envy.  Her  delusions  are,  I  think,  not  so 
much  the  result  of  a  fear  of  dying  as  of  a  sort  of  inward  in- 
toxication— the  faded  flowers  of  her  youth  rotting  as  they 
wither.  Yes,  the  angel  of  evil  is  struggling  with  heaven  for 
that  beautiful  soul.  Madame  is  going  through  her  agony  in 
the  garden  ;  her  tears  mingle  with  the  white  roses  that  crowned 
her  head  as  a  daughter  of  Jephtha,  though  married,  and  that 
have  fallen  one  by  one. 

"  Wait  a  little  while  ;  do  not  let  her  see  you  yet ;  you  will 
bring  in  the  glitter  of  the  court,  she  will  see  in  your  face  a 
reflection  of  worldly  enjoyments,  and  you  will  add  to  her 
regrets.  Have  pity  on  a  weakness  which  God  Himself  for- 
gave to  His  Son  made  man.  Though  what  merit  indeed 
should  we  have  in  triumphing  where  there  was  no  adversary  ? 
Allow  us,  her  director  and  myself,  two  old  men  whose  ruins 
cannot  offend  her  sight,  to  prepare  her  for  this  unlooked-for 
interview  and  emotions  which  the  Abbe  Birotteau  had  desired 
her  to  forego.  But  there  is  in  the  things  of  this  world  an 
invisible  warp  of  celestial  causation  which  a  religious  eye  can 
discern,  and,  since  you  have  come  here,  you  have  perhaps 
been  guided  by  one  of  the  stars  which  shine  in  the  moral 
sphere  and  lead  to  the  tomb  as  they  did  to  the  manger." 

And  then  he  told  me,  with  the  unctuous  eloquence  that 
falls  on  the  spirit  like  dew,  that  for  the  last  six  months  the 
Countess'  sufferings  had  increased  every  day,  in  spite  of  all 
Origet  could  do  for  her.  The  doctor  had  come  to  Cloche- 
gourde  every  evening  for  two  months,  striving  to  snatch  this 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  265 

prey  from  death,  for  the  Countess  had  said  to  him :  "  Save 
me!" 

"  But  to  cure  the  body  the  heart  must  be  cured  !  "  the  old 
physician  had  one  day  exclaimed. 

"As  the  malady  increased  the  gentle  creature's  words  be- 
came bitter,"  the  Abbe  de  Dominis  went  on.  "  She  cries 
out  to  earth  to  keep  her,  rather  than  to  God  to  take  her; 
then  she  repents  of  murmuring  against  the  decrees  of  the 
Most  High.  These  alternations  rend  her  heart,  and  make 
the  conflict  terrible  between  body  and  soul.  Often  it  is  the 
body  that  conquers. 

"'You  have  cost  me  dear!  '  she  said  one  day  to  Made- 
leine and  Jacques,  sending  them  away  from  her  bedside. 
But  in  the  next  breath,  called  back  to  God  by  seeing  me,  she 
spoke  these  angelic  words  to  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  :  '  The 
happiness  of  others  becomes  the  joy  of  those  who  can  no 
longer  be  happy.'  And  her  accent  was  so  pathetic  that  I  felt 
my  own  eyes  moisten.  She  falls,  indeed,  but  each  time  she 
rises  again  nearer  to  heaven." 

Struck  by  the  successive  messages  sent  to  me  by  fate,  all 
leading  up,  in  this  vast  concert  of  woe,  through  mournful 
modulations,  to  the  funereal  theme,  the  great  cry  of  dying 
love,  I  exclaimed — 

"  Then  you  do  believe  that  this  beautiful  lily,  cut  off  in  its 
prime,  will  bloom  again  in  heaven?" 

"  You  left  her  as  a  flower,"  he  replied,  "  but  you  will  find 
her  burnt,  purified  in  the  fire  of  sorrow,  as  pure  as  a  diamond 
still  lying  hidden  in  rubbish.  Yes,  that  brilliant  spirit,  that 
angelical  star,  will  emerge  glorified  from  the  clouds  about  it, 
to  pass  into  the  realms  of  light." 

Just  as  I  pressed  the  hand  of  this  apostolic  man,  my  heart 
overpowered  with  gratitude,  the  Count's  perfectly  white  head 
was  seen  outside  the  house,  and  he  flew  to  meet  me  with  a 
gesture  of  great  surprise. 

"She   was   right!      Here   he   is.      'Felix,    Felix,    Felix! 


266  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

F6lix  is  come  !  '  Madame  de  Mortsauf  cried  out.  My  dear 
fellow,"  he  added,  with  looks  distraught  by  terror,  "  death  is 
here.  Why  did  it  not  take  an  old  lunatic  like  me,  whom  it 
had  already  laid  hands  on  ?  " 

I  walked  on  to  the  house,  summoning  all  my  courage  ;  but 
on  the  threshold  of  the  long  corridor  through  the  house, 
from  the  lawn  to  the  terrace  steps,  I  was  met  by  the  Abbe 
Birotteau. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  begs  you  will  not  go  to  her  yet," 
said  he. 

Looking  around  me  I  saw  the  servants  coming  and  going, 
all  very  busy,  dizzy  with  grief,  and  evidently  startled  by  the 
orders  delivered  to  them  through  Manette. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  the  Count,  irritated  by  this 
bustle,  not  only  from  a  dread  of  the  terrible  end,  but  as  a 
consequence  of  his  naturally  petulant  temper,  which  seemed 
to  be  worse  than  before. 

"  A  sick  woman's  caprice,"  replied  the  abbe.  "Madame 
la  Comtesse  does  not  choose  to  receive  Monsieur  le  Vicomte 
in  the  state  she  is  in.  She  talks  of  dressing.  Why  con- 
tradict her?  " 

Manette  went  to  call  Madeleine,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
we  saw  her  come  out  again  from  her  mother's  room.  As  we 
walked,  all  five  of  us — Jacques  and  his  father,  the  two  abbes 
and  I — in  perfect  silence  along  the  front  to  the  lawn,  we 
went  beyond  the  house.  I  looked  by  turns  at  Montvazon  and 
at  Azay,  contemplating  the  yellowing  valley,  in  mourning  as 
it  seemed,  and  responding,  as  it  ever  did,  to  the  feelings  that 
agitated  me. 

I  suddenly  saw  the  dear  "  Mignonne  "  running  to  seek 
autumn  flowers,  gathering  them  to  compose  a  nosegay,  no 
doubt ;  and  thinking  of  all  that  was  conveyed  by  this  reflec- 
tion of  my  loving  attentions,  a  strange,  indescribable  sensa- 
tion came  over  me,  I  tottered,  my  eyes  grew  dim,  and  the 
two  priests  between  whom  I  was  walking  carried  me  to  the 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY,  267 

low  parapet  of  a  terrace  where  I  sat  for  some  time,  broken,  as 
it  were,  but  without  entirely  losing  consciousness. 

"  Poor  Felix  !  "  said  the  Count.  "  She  said  you  were  not 
to  be  written  to  ;  she  knows  how  much  you  love  her  !  " 

Though  prepared  to  suffer,  I  had  found  myself  too  weak  to 
bear  a  contemplation  which  summed  up  all  my  happy  mem- 
ories. "  There,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  there  lies  the  heath, 
as  dry  as  a  skeleton,  in  the  gray  daylight,  and  in  the  midst  of 
it  there  used  to  be  one  lonely  flowering  shrub  which,  in  my 
walks  of  old,  I  could  never  admire  without  a  shudder  of  ill- 
omen,  for  it  was  the  emblem  of  this  dreadful  day !  " 

Everything  was  dejected  about  the  little  mansion,  formerly 
so  lively,  so  busy.  Everything  mourned,  everything  spoke 
of  despair  and  neglect.  The  paths  were  but  half-raked, 
work  begun  had  been  left  unfinished,  the  laborers  stood  idle, 
gazing  at  the  house.  Though  the  vintage  was  being  gathered, 
there  was  no  noise,  no  chatter  of  tongues.  The  vineyards 
seemed  deserted,  so  profound  was  the  silence. 

We  walked  on,  grief  repressing  commonplace  words,  but 
listening  to  the  Count,  the  only  one  of  us  who  could  talk. 
Having  said  the  things  which  his  mechanical  affection  for  his 
wife  dictated,  from  sheer  habit  and  tendency  of  mind,  he 
began  finding  fault  with  the  Countess.  His  wife  had  never 
chosen  to  take  any  care  of  herself  nor  to  listen  when  he  gave 
her  good  counsel ;  he  had  discerned  the  first  symptoms  of  her 
illness,  for  he  had  studied  them  in  himself,  he  had  physicked 
and  cured  himself  with  no  aid  but  that  of  a  strictly  regulated 
diet  and  the  avoidance  of  any  strong  emotion.  He  could  per- 
fectly well  have  cured  the  Countess,  but  a  husband  cannot 
take  on  himself  such  a  responsibility,  especially  when  he  is  so 
unhappy  as  to  find  his  experience  treated  with  contempt.  In 
spite  of  all  he  could  say,  the  Countess  had  called  in  Origet 
for  her  adviser — Origet,  who  had  so  mismanaged  him  and 
was  killing  his  wife  !  If  the  cause  of  this  disease  was  excess 
of  troubles,  he  certainly  had  been  in  a  condition  to  develop 


268  THE   LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

it,  but  what  troubles  could  his  wife  have  had  ?  The  Countess 
was  quite  happy,  she  had  nothing  to  grieve  or  annoy  her. 
Their  fortune  was  assured,  thanks  to  his  care  and  his  good 
management ;  he  allowed  Madame  de  Mortsauf  to  reign 
supreme  at  Clochegourde ;  their  children — well  brought  up 
and  in  good  health — caused  them  no  further  anxiety;  what 
then  could  have  brought  on  the  malady? 

And  he  mixed  up  the  expression  of  his  despair  with  the 
silliest  accusations.  Then,  presently,  recalled  by  some  remi- 
niscence to  the  admiration  the  noble  creature  deserved,  tears 
started  to  his  eyes  so  long  since  dried  up. 

Madeleine  came  to  tell  me  that  her  mother  was  ready  to  see 
me.  The  Abbe  Birotteau  came  with  me.  The  grave  little 
girl  remained  with  her  father,  saying  that  her  mother  wished 
to  see  me  alone,  making  it  her  excuse  that  the  presence  of 
several  persons  was  too  fatiguing.  The  solemnity  of  the  mo- 
ment gave  me  that  strange  sense  of  being  hot  within  and  cold 
on  the  surface  that  is  so  overwhelming  on  some  great  occa- 
sions in  life.  The  Abbe  Birotteau,  one  of  the  men  whom 
God  has  marked  for  His  own  by  clothing  them  in  gentleness 
and  simplicity  and  endowing  them  with  patience  and  mercy, 
drew  me  aside. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "you  must  know  that  I  have  done 
all  that  was  humanly  possible  to  hinder  this  meeting  between 
you.  The  salvation  of  that  saint  required  it.  I  thought  only 
of  her,  not  of  you.  Now  that  you  are  going  once  more  to 
see  her,  whose  door  ought  to  be  held  against  you  by  angels,  I 
must  inform  you  that  I  intend  to  be  present  to  protect  her 
against  you  and  perhaps  against  herself!  Respect  her  feeble 
state.  I  ask  you  to  be  merciful,  not  as  a  priest,  but  as  a 
humble  friend  of  whom  you  knew  not  and  who  would  fain 
save  you  from  remorse. 

"  Our  poor  invalid  is  dying  literally  of  hunger  and  thirst. 
Since  the  morning  she  has  been  suffering  from  the  feverish 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  269 

irritability  that  precedes  that  dreadful  end,  and  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  sorely  she  regrets  leaving  life.  The  outcries  of  her 
rebellious  flesh  are  buried  in  my  heart  where  they  wound  still 
tender  echoes ;  but  Monsieur  de  Dominis  and  I  have  assumed 
this  religious  duty  so  as  to  conceal  the  spectacle  of  her  mental 
agony  from  the  noble  family  which  has  lost  its  morning  and 
its  evening  star.  For  her  husband,  her  children,  her  servants, 
all  ask,  '  Where  is  she  ? '  so  greatly  is  she  changed. 

"  When  she  sees  you  her  laments  will  begin  afresh.  Put 
from  you  the  thoughts  of  the  man  of  the  world,  forget  all  the 
vanities  of  the  heart,  be  to  her  the  advocate  of  heaven  and 
not  of  the  world.  Do  not  suffer  that  saint  to  die  in  a  mo- 
ment of  doubt,  her  last  accents  words  of  despair  !  " 

I  made  no  reply.  My  silence  filled  the  poor  priest  with 
consternation.  I  saw,  I  heard,  I  walked,  and  yet  I  was  no 
longer  on  the  earth.  The  one  thought,  "What  can  have  hap- 
pened ?  In  what  state  shall  I  find  her  that  everybody  takes 
such  elaborate  precautions?"  gave  rise  to  apprehensions  all 
the  more  torturing  because  they  were  undefined.  That  thought 
summed  up  every  possible  sorrow. 

We  reached  the  door  of  her  room,  and  the  anxious  priest 
opened  it.  I  then  saw  Henriette,  dressed  in  white,  reclining 
on  her  little  sofa  in  front  of  the  fireplace  ;  on  the  mantel 
were  two  vases  filled  with  flowers ;  there  were  more  flowers  on 
a  table  in  front  of  the  window.  The  abbe's  face,  amazed  at 
this  unexpectedly  festal  sight  and  at  the  change  in  the  room 
so  suddenly  restored  to  its  original  order,  showed  me  that  the 
dying  woman  had  banished  all  the  odious  apparatus  that  sur- 
rounds a  bed  of  sickness.  She  had  exerted  the  last  strength 
of  a  dying  fever  to  dress  her  disordered  room  for  the  worthy 
reception  of  him  whom  she  loved  at  this  moment  above  all 
else. 

Her  haggard  face,  under  a  voluminous  lace  wrapper,  had 
the  greenish  pallor  of  magnolia  flowers  when  they  first  open, 
and  looked  like  the  first  outline  for  a  portrait  of  a  head  we 


270  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

love  sketched  in  chalk  on  yellow-white  canvas  ;  but,  to  under- 
stand how  deeply  the  vulture's  talons  clutched  at  my  heart, 
picture  this  sketch  with  the  eyes  finished  and  full  of  life — 
hollow  eyes,  glittering  with  unwonted  light  in  a  colorless 
face.  She  no  longer  had  the  calm  supremacy  which  she  had 
derived  from  constant  victory  over  her  griefs.  Her  brow,  the 
only  part  of  her  face  that  had  preserved  its  fine  proportions, 
expressed  the  aggressive  audacity  of  suppressed  craving  and 
threats.  In  spite  of  the  waxen  hues  of  her  drawn  face,  inter- 
nal fires  flashed  forth  with  an  effluence  that  resembled  the 
quivering  atmosphere  over  the  fields  on  a  hot  day.  Her 
hollow  temples,  her  sunken  cheeks,  showed  the  bony  structure 
of  the  face,  and  her  white  lips  wore  a  smile  that  vaguely  re- 
sembled the  grin  of  a  skull.  Her  gown,  crossed  over  her 
bosom,  betrayed  how  thin  she  had  grown.  The  expression 
of  her  face  plainly  showed  that  she  knew  how  much  she  was 
changed,  and  that  it  had  brought  her  to  despair.  She  was  no 
longer  the  sportive  Henriette,  nor  the  sublime  and  saintly 
Madame  de  Mortsauf;  but  the  nameless  thing  that  Bossuet 
speaks  of,  struggling  against  annihilation,  urged  by  hunger 
and  cheated  appetites,  to  a  self-centred  battle  of  life  and 
death. 

I  sat  down  by  her  side  and  took  her  hand  to  kiss  it ;  it  was 
burning  and  dry.  She  read  my  pained  surprise  in  the  very 
effort  I  made  to  conceal  it.  Her  discolored  lips  were  stretched 
over  her  ravenous  teeth  in  an  attempt  at  one  of  those  forced 
smiles  under  which  we  disguise  alike  irony  and  vengeance,  the 
anticipation  of  pleasure,  ecstasy  of  soul,  or  the  fury  of  disap- 
pointment. 

"It  is  death,  my  poor  Felix,"  she  said  ;  "and  death  does 
not  charm  you  !  Hideous  death — death  which  every  creature, 
even  the  boldest  lover,  holds  in  horror.  Love  ceases  here ! 
I  knew  it  full  well.  Lady  Dudley  will  never  see  you  shocked 
by  such  a  change.  Oh !  why  have  I  so  longed  for  you, 
F£lix?  And  at  last  you  are  here — and  I  reward  your  devo- 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  271 

tion  by  the  horrible  spectacle  which  made  the  Comte  de 
Ranee  turn  Trappist ;  I,  who  hoped  to  dwell  in  your  remem- 
brance beautiful,  noble,  like  an  immortal  lily,  I  destroy  all 
your  illusions.  True  love  makes  no  calculations. 

"  But  do  not  fly  :  stay.  Monsieur  Origet  thought  me  much 
better  this  morning  ;  I  shall  live  again — be  renewed  under  your 
eyes.  And  then,  when  I  shall  have  recovered  my  strength  a 
little,  when  I  can  take  some  food,  I  shall  grow  handsome 
again.  I  am  but  five-and-thirty  ;  I  may  have  some  years  of 
beauty  yet.  Happiness  renews  youth,  and  I  mean  to  be 
happy.  I  have  made  the  most  delightful  plans.  We  will 
leave  them  all  at  Clochegourde  and  go  to  Italy  together." 

Tears  rose  to  my  eyes;  I  turned  away  to  the  table,  as  if  to 
admire  the  flowers  ;  the  abbe  hastily  came  up  to  me  and 
leaned  over  the  nosegay:  "No  tears,"  said  he  in  a  whisper. 

"  What,  Henriette,  have  you  ceased  to  love  our  dear 
valley?  "  said  I,  as  an  excuse  for  my  sudden  movement. 

"No,"  she  said,  touching  my  forehead  with  her  lips  with 
coaxing  softness ;  "  but  without  you  it  is  fatal  to  me — without 
thee  (sans  toi}"  she  corrected  herself,  touching  my  ear  with 
her  hot  lips  to  breathe  the  two  words  like  a  sigh. 

I  was  dismayed  by  this  crazy  caress,  which  gave  weight  to 
the  terrible  hints  of  the  two  priests.  My  first  surprise  passed 
off;  but  though  I  could  now  exercise  my  reason,  my  will  was 
not  strong  enough  to  restrain  the  nervous  excitement  that 
tormented  me  during  this  scene.  I  listened  without  replying, 
or  rather  I  replied  by  a  fixed  smile  and  nods  of  assent,  merely 
not  to  contradict  her,  as  a  mother  treats  her  child.  After 
being  startled  by  the  change  in  her  person,  I  perceived  that 
the  woman  who  had  once  been  so  dignified  in  her  lofti- 
ness had  now,  in  her  attitude,  her  voice,  her  manners,  her 
looks,  and  her  ideas,  the  artless  simplicity  of  a  child,  the 
ingenuous  grace,  the  restless  movements,  the  absolute  indiffer- 
ence to  everything  that  is  not  itself  or  the  object  of  its  desire, 
which,  in  a  child,  cry  out  for  protection. 


272  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

Is  it  always  thus  with  the  dying?  Do  they  cast  off  every 
social  disguise,  as  a  child  has  not  yet  assumed  them  ?  Or  was 
it  that  the  Countess,  on  the  brink  of  eternity,  while  rejecting 
every  human  emotion  but  love,  expressed  its  sweet  innocence 
after  the  manner  of  Chloe  ? 

"  You  will  bring  me  health  as  you  used  to  do,  F£lix?  "  said 
she,  "  and  my  valley  will  be  good  to  rrie  again.  How  can  I 
help  eating  anything  you  give  me  ?  You  are  such  a  good 
nurse  !  And,  beside,  you  are  so  rich  in  health  and  strength 
that  life  is  contagious  from  you. 

"My  dear,  prove  to  me  that  I  am  not  to  die,  and  to  die 
disappointed.  They  think  that  I  suffer  most  from  thirst.  Oh, 
yes,  I  am  very  thirsty,  my  dear.  It  hurts  me  dreadfully  to  see 
the  waters  of  the  Indre  ;  but  my  heart  suffers  a  more  burning 
thirst.  I  thirsted  for  you,"  she  said  in  a  smothered  voice, 
taking  my  hands  in  her  burning  hands  and  drawing  me 
toward  her  to  speak  the  words  in  my  ear.  "  My  agony  was 
that  I  could  not  see  you.  Did  you  not  bid  me  live?  I  will 
live  !  I  will  ride — I,  too,  I  will  know  everything — Paris,  fes- 
tivities, pleasures  !  " 

Oh,  Natalie  !  this  dreadful  outcry,  which  the  materialism  of 
the  senses  makes  so  cold  at  a  distance,  made  our  ears  tingle 
— the  old  priest's  and  mine ;  the  tones  of  that  beautiful  voice 
represented  the  struggles  of  a  whole  life,  the  anguish  of  a  true 
love  always  balked.  It  was  indescribable  torture  to  me  and 
grewsome  to  the  abbe. 

The  Countess  stood  up  with  an  impatient  effort,  like  a  child 
that  wants  a  toy.  When  the  confessor  saw  his  penitent  in 
this  mood,  the  poor  man  fell  on  his  knees,  clasped  his  hands, 
and  began  to  pray. 

"Yes,  I  will  live !  "  she  cried,  making  me  stand,  too,  and 
leaning  on  me ;  "  live  on  realities  and  not  on  lies.  My 
whole  life  has  been  one  of  lies ;  I  have  been  counting  them 
over  these  last  days.  Is  it  possible  that  I  should  die,  I  who 
have  not  lived  !  I  who  have  never  been  to  meet  any  one  on 


THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  273 

a  heath?"     She  paused,  seemed  to  listen,  and  smelt  some- 
thing through  the  very  walls. 

"  Felix,  the  vintagers  are  going  to  dinner,  and  I,  the  mis- 
tress, am  starving,"  she  said  in  a  childish  tone.  "  It  is  the 
same  with  love  ;  they  are  happy  !  ' ' 

"Kyrie  eleison.'"  said  the  poor  abbe,  who,  with  clasped 
hands  and  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  was  repeating  litanies. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck,  clasping  me  with 
vehemence  as  she  said — 

"  You  shall  escape  me  no  more !  I  mean  to  be  loved,  I 
will  be  as  mad  as  Lady  Dudley,  I  will  learn  English  to  say 
My  Dee  very  prettily."  She  gave  me  a  little  nod,  as  she  had 
been  wont  to  do  when  leaving  me,  to  assure  me  that  she  would 
return  immediately.  "  We  will  dine  together,"  said  she. 
"  I  will  go  and  tell  Manette "  But  she  stopped,  over- 
come by  weakness,  and  I  laid  her,  dressed  as  she  was,  on  her 
bed. 

"  Once  before  you  carried  me  just  so,"  she  said,  opening 
her  eyes. 

She  was  very  light,  but  very  hot ;  as  I  held  her  I  felt  her 
whole  body  burning.  Monsieur  Deslandes  came  in,  and  was 
astonished  to  find  the  room  dressed  out ;  on  seeing  me  he  un- 
derstood everything. 

"  We  suffer  much  before  we  die,  monsieur,"  said  she  in  a 
husky  voice. 

He  sat  down,  felt  her  pulse,  rose  hastily,  spoke  a  few  words 
to  the  priest  in  an  undertone,  and  left  the  room;  I  followed 
him. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  I  asked  him. 

"To  spare  her  intolerable  torments,"  said  he.  "Who 
could  have  conceived  of  so  much  vitality  ?  We  cannot 
understand  how  she  is  still  living.  This  is  the  forty-second 
day  that  the  Countess  has  neither  eaten,  drunk,  nor  slept." 

Monsieur  Deslandes  sent  for  Manette.     The  abbe  led  me 
into  the  gardens. 
18 


274  THE  LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"Let  us  leave  the  doctor  free,"  said  he.  "With  Ma- 
nette's  help  he  will  wrap  her  in  opium.  Well,  you  have 
heard  her,"  he  said,  "  if  indeed  it  is  she  who  yields  to  these 
mad  impulses — 

"  No,"  said  I,  "it  is  she  no  more." 

I  was  stupefied  with  grief.  As  I  walked  on,  every  detail  of 
this  brief  scene  gained  importance.  I  hastily  went  out  of  the 
little  gate  of  the  lower  terrace  and  seated  myself  in  the  punt, 
where  I  ensconced  myself  to  be  left  alone  with  my  thoughts. 
I  tried  to  tear  myself  away  from  the  power  by  which  I 
lived  ;  a  torture  like  that  by  which  the  Tartars  were  wont  to 
punish  adultery  by  wedging  a  limb  of  the  guilty  person  into 
a  cleft  rock,  and  giving  him  a  knife  wherewith  to  free  himself 
if  he  did  not  wish  to  starve ;  a  fearful  penance  through  which 
my  soul  was  passing,  since  I  had  to  amputate  its  nobler  half. 
My  life,  too,  was  a  failure ! 

Despair  suggested  strange  ideas.  Now,  I  would  die  with 
her ;  again,  I  would  cloister  myself  at  La  Meilleraye  where 
the  Trappists  had  just  established  a  retreat.  My  clouded  eyes 
no  longer  saw  external  objects.  I  gazed  at  the  windows  of 
the  room  where  Henriette  lay  suffering,  fancying  I  saw  the 
light  that  burned  there  that  night  when  I  had  dedicated  my- 
self to  her.  Ought  I  not  to  have  obeyed  the  simple  rule  of 
life  she  had  laid  down  for  me,  preserving  myself  hers  in  the  toil 
of  business?  Had  she  not  enjoined  on  me  to  become  a  great 
man,  so  as  to  preserve  myself  from  the  base  and  degrading 
passions  to  which  I  had  given  way  like  every  other  man?  j 
Was  not  chastity  a  sublime  distinction  which  I  had  failed  to  \ 
keep.  Love,  as  Arabella  conceived  of  it,  suddenly  filled  me 
with  disgust. 

Just  as  I  raised  my  stricken  head,  wondering  whence  hence- 
forth I  was  to  derive  light  and  hope,  a  slight  rustle  disturbed 
the  air ;  I  looked  toward  the  terrace  and  saw  Madeleine 
slowly  walking  there,  alone.  While  I  made  my  way  up  to  the 
terrace,  intending  to  ask  the  dear  child  the  reason  of  the  cold 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  275 

look  she  had  given  me  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  she  had  seated 
herself  on  the  bench ;  as  she  saw  me  coming  she  arose,  affect- 
ing not  to  have  perceived  me,  so  as  not  to  be  alone  with  me ; 
her  step  was  rapid  and  significant.  She  hated  me.  She  was 
flying  from  her  mother's  murderer.  Returning  to  the  house 
up  the  flight  of  steps  I  saw  Madeleine  standing  motionless, 
listening  to  my  approach.  Jacques  was  sitting  on  a  step,  and 
his  attitude  was  expressive  of  the  same  insensibility  as  had 
struck  me  when  we  were  walking  together,  leaving  me  pos- 
sessed by  such  ideas  as  we  bury  in  a  corner  of  the  soul  to 
return  to  and  examine  later,  at  leisure.  I  have  observed  that 
all  those  who  are  doomed  to  die  young  are  calmly  indifferent 
to  burials. 

I  wanted  to  question  this  melancholy  soul.  Had  Madeleine 
kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  or  had  she  communicated  her 
hatred  to  Jacques  ? 

"You  know,"  said  I,  to  open  a  conversation,  "that  you 
have  in  me  a  most  devoted  brother." 

"Your  friendship  is  worthless  to  me,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
follow  my  mother,"  and  he  gave  me  a  fierce  look  of  suffering. 

"  Jacques  !  "  I  cried,  "  you  too  ?  " 

He  coughed  and  turned  away;  then  when  he  came  back 
he  hastily  showed  me  his  bloodstained  handkerchief. 

"  You  understand  ?  "  he  said. 

Thus  each  had  a  secret.  As  I  afterward  saw,  the  brother 
and  sister  avoided  each  other.  Henriette  gone,  everything  at 
Clochegourde  was  falling  into  ruin. 

"Madame  is  asleep,"  Manette  came  to  tell  us,  happy  to 
see  the  Countess  reprieved  from  pain. 

In  such  fearful  moments,  though  everybody  knows  the  in- 
evitable end,  true  affection  goes  crazy  and  clings  to  the  smallest 
joys.  The  minutes  are  ages  which  we  would  gladly  make 
ages  of  ease.  We  wish  that  the  sufferer  might  sleep  in  roses ; 
we  would  take  their  pain  if  we  could ;  we  long  that  the  last 
sigh  should  be  unconsciously  breathed. 


276  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

"  Monsieur  Deslandes  had  the  flowers  removed  ;  they  were 
too  much  for  madame's  nerves,"  said  Manette. 

So  it  was  the  flowers  that  had  made  her  delirious ;  she  was 
not  guilty.  The  loves  of  earthly  creatures,  the  joys  of  fruitful- 
ness,  the  yearnings  of  plants  had  intoxicated  her  with  their 
fragrance,  and  had  no  doubt  revived  the  thoughts  of  happy 
love  that  had  slumbered  within  her  from  her  youth. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Felix,"  said  Manette,  "come  and  look 
at  madame;  she  is  as  lovely  as  an  angel." 

I  went  back  to  the  dying  woman's  room  just  as  the  setting 
sun  was  gilding  the  gabled  roofs  of  the  Chateau  of  Azay. 
All  was  still  and  clear.  A  softened  light  fell  upon  the  bed 
where  Henriette  lay  lapped  in  opium.  At  this  moment  the 
body  was,  so  to  speak,  annihilated ;  the  soul  alone  was  seen 
in  the  face,  as  serene  as  a  bright  sky  after  a  storm.  Blanche 
and  Henriette — the  two  beautiful  aspects  of  the  same  woman 
— appeared  before  me,  all  the  more  beautiful  because  my 
memory,  my  mind,  my  imagination,  helping  nature,  restored 
the  perfection  of  each  feature,  to  which  the  spirit  triumphant 
lent  fitful  lights,  coming  and  going  and  as  she  breathed. 

The  two  priests  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  Count 
stood  thunderstruck,  recognizing  the  banners  of  death  float- 
ing above  that  adored  head.  I  took  a  seat  on  the  sofa  she 
had  been  occupying.  Then  we  four  exchanged  glances  in 
which  our  admiration  of  her  heavenly  beauty  mingled  with 
tears  of  regret. 

The  gleam  of  intelligence  announced  the  return  of  God  to 
one  of  His  loveliest  tabernacles.  The  Abbe  de  Dominis  and 
I  communicated  our  mutual  feelings  by  signs.  Yes,  the 
angels  kept  guard  over  Henriette  !  Yes,  their  swords  flashed 
above  that  noble  brow,  where  we  now  saw  the  august  stamp 
of  virtue  which  of  old  had  made  the  soul  visible,  as  it  were, 
holding  communion  with  the  spirits  of  its  own  sphere.  The 
lines  of  her  face  were  purified,  every  feature  grew  grander  and 
more  majestic  under  the  invisible  censers  of  the  seraphim  that 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  277 

watched  over  her.  The  green  hues  of  physical  torment  gave 
way  to  the  perfect  whiteness,  the  dead,  cold  pallor  of  ap- 
proaching death. 

Jacques  and  Madeleine  came  in  ;  Madeleine  gave  us  all  a 
thrill  by  the  adoring  impulse  which  made  her  fall  on  her 
knees  by  the  bed,  clasp  her  hands  and  utter  the  inspired 
exclamation  :  "At  last  !  This  is  my  mother  !  "  Jacques  was 
smiling :  he  knew  that  he  was  following  his  mother  whither 
she  was  going. 

"  She  is  reaching  the  haven  !  "  said  the  Abbe  Birotteau. 

The  Abbe  de  Dominis  looked  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say : 
"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  the  star  would  rise  effulgent?  " 

Madeleine  kept  her  eyes  riveted  on  her  mother,  breathing 
with  her  breath,  echoing  her  faint  sighs,  the  last  thread  that 
held  her  to  life,  we  counting  them  with  dread  lest  it  should 
break  at  each  effort.  Like  an  angel  at  the  gates  of  the  sanc- 
tuary the  young  girl  was  at  once  eager  and  calm,  strong  and 
prostrate. 

At  this  moment  the  Angelus  rang  out  from  the  village 
belfry ;  the  waves  of  mellowed  air  brought  up  the  sound  in 
gusts,  announcing  that  at  this  hour  all  Christendom  was  re- 
peating the  words  spoken  by  the  angel  to  the  woman  who 
made  reparation  for  the  sins  of  her  sex.  This  evening  the  Ave 
Maria  came  to  us  as  a  greeting  from  heaven.  The  prophecy 
was  so  sure,  the  event  so  near,  that  we  melted  into  tears. 

The  murmurous  sounds  of  the  evening — a  melodious 
breeze  in  the  leaves,  the  last  twitter  of  the  birds,  the  buzz 
and  hum  of  insects,  the  voice  of  waters,  the  plaintive  cry  of 
the  tree-frog — all  the  land  was  taking  leave  of  the  loveliest 
lily  of  this  valley  and  her  simple,  rural  life.  The  religious 
poetry  of  the  scene,  added  to  all  this  natural  poetry,  so  well 
expressed  a  chant  of  departure  that  our  sobs  began  again. 

Though  the  bedroom  door  was  open,  we  were  so  lost  in 
this  terrible  contemplation,  trying  to  stamp  on  our  minds  the 
memory  of  it  for  ever,  that  we  did  not  observe  all  the  ser- 


278  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

vants  of  the  house  kneeling  in  a  group  outside  and  putting  up 
fervent  prayers.  All  these  poor  souls,  accustomed  to  hope, 
had  thought  they  should  still  keep  their  mistress,  and  these 
unmistakable  signs  overwhelmed  them.  At  a  sign  from  the 
Abb6  Birotteau  the  old  huntsman  went  to  fetch  the  cure  of 
Sachet  The  doctor,  standing  by  the  bed,  as  calm  as  science, 
holding  his  patient's  torpid  hand,  had  signed  to  the  confessor 
to  express  that  this  sleep  was  the  last  hour  of  ease  that  was 
given  to  the  recalled  angel.  The  moment  had  come  for 
administering  the  last  sacraments  of  the  church. 

At  nine  o'clock  she  gently  awoke  and  looked  at  us  in  mild 
surprise ;  we  saw  our  idol  in  all  the  beauty  of  her  best  days. 

"  Mother,  you  are  too  beautiful  to  die ;  life  and  health  are 
coming  back  to  you  !  "  cried  Madeleine. 

"My  dear  daughter,  I  shall  live — but  in  you,"  said  she, 
with  a  smile. 

Then  came  heart-rending  farewells  from  the  mother  to  the 
children  and  from  the  children  to  the  mother.  Monsieur  de 
Mortsauf  kissed  his  wife  piously  on  the  brow.  The  Countess 
flushed  as  she  saw  me. 

"  Dear  Felix,"  said  she,  "  this  is,  I  believe,  the  only  grief 
I  shall  ever  have  given  you  !  But  forget  all  I  may  have  said 
to  you,  poor  crazed  thing  as  I  was!"  She  held  out  her 
hand  ;  I  took  it  to  kiss,  and  she  said  with  a  smile  of  virtue — 
"As  of  old,  Felix!" 

We  all  left  the  room,  and  remained  in  the  drawing-room 
while  the  sick  woman  made  her  last  confession.  I  sat  down 
next  to  Madeleine.  In  the  presence  of  them  all  she  could 
not  avoid  me  without  being  rude ;  but,  as  her  mother  used, 
she  looked  at  no  one  and  kept  silence,  without  once  raising 
her  eyes  to  mine. 

"  Dear  Madeleine,"  said  I  in  a  low  voice,  "what  grievance 
have  you  against  me?  Why  such  coldness  when,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  death,  we  ought  to  be  friends  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  I  can  hear  what  my  mother  is  saying  at  this 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  279 

moment,"  replied  she,  putting  on  the  expression  that  Ingres 
had  given  to  his  "Mother  of  God,"  the  mourning  Virgin 
preparing  to  protect  the  world  in  which  her  Son  is  about  to 
perish. 

"Then  you  condemn  me  at  the  moment  when  your  mother 
is  absolving  me,  supposing  me  to  be  guilty." 

"  You,  and  always  you  !  "  She  spoke  with  unreasoning 
hatred,  like  that  of  a  Corsican,  as  implacable  as  all  judgments 
are  that  are  pronounced  by  those  who,  not  knowing  life, 
admit  no  extenuation  of  the  sins  committed  against  the  laws 
of  the  heart. 

An  hour  passed  in  utter  silence.  The  Abbe  Birotteau  came 
in  after  hearing  the  Comtesse  de  Mortsauf 's  general  confes- 
sion, and  we  all  went  into  her  room  again.  Henriette,  in 
obedience  to  one  of  the  ideas  that  occur  to  noble  souls,  all 
sisters  in  purpose,  had  been  robed  in  a  long  garment  that 
was  to  serve  as  her  winding-sheet.  We  found  her  sitting  up 
in  bed,  beautiful  with  expiation  and  hope.  I  saw  in  the  fire- 
place the  black  ashes  of  my  letters  which  had  just  been  burnt ; 
a  sacrifice  she  would  not  make,  the  confessor  told  me,  till  she 
was  at  the  point  of  death.  She  smiled  at  us  all — her  old 
smile.  Her  eyes,  moist  with  tears,  were,  we  saw,  finally 
unsealed ;  she  already  saw  the  celestial  joys  of  the  promised 
land. 

"  Dear  Felix,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  and  pressing 
mine.  "  Stay.  You  must  be  present  at  one  of  the  closing 
scenes  of  my  life,  which  will  not  be  one  of  the  least  painful 
of  all,  but  in  which  you  are  intimately  concerned." 

She  made  a  sign,  and  the  door  was  shut.  By  her  desire 
the  Count  sat  down  ;  the  Abbe  Birotteau  and  I  remained 
standing.  With  Manette's  assistance  the  Countess  got  up  and 
knelt  down  before  the  astonished  Count,  insisting  on  remain- 
ing there.  Then,  when  Manette  had  left  the  room,  she  raised 
her  head,  which  she  had  bent,  resting  it  on  his  knees. 

"Though  I  have  always  been  a  faithful  wife  to  you,"  said 


280  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

she  in  a  broken  voice,  "I  have,  perhaps,  monsieur,  failed  in 
my  duties.  I  have  prayed  to  God  to  give  me  strength  to  ask 
your  forgiveness  of  my  faults.  I  have  perhaps  devoted  to  the 
cares  of  a  friendship  outside  my  home  attentions  more  affec- 
tionate than  I  owed  even  to  you.  Perhaps  I  have  annoyed 
you  by  the  comparisons  you  may  have  drawn  between  those 
cares,  those  thoughts,  and  such  as  I  have  given  to  you.  I 
have  known,"  she  said  in  a  very  low  voice,  "a  great  friend- 
ship, which  no  one,  not  even  he  who  was  its  object,  ever 
wholly  knew.  Though  I  have  been  virtuous  by  all  human 
law,  a  blameless  wife  to  you,  thoughts — voluntary  or  invol- 
untary— have  found  their  way  into  my  mind  and  I  fear  I  may 
have  cherished  them  too  gladly.  But  as  I  have  always  loved 
you  truly,  and  have  been  your  obedient  wife,  as  the  clouds 
passing  across  the  sky  have  never  darkened  its  clearness,  you 
behold  me  craving  your  blessing  with  an  unsullied  brow.  I 
can  die  without  a  bitter  pang  if  I  may  hear  from  your  lips 
one  loving  word  for  your  Blanche,  the  mother  of  your  chil- 
dren, and  if  you  will  forgive  all  these  things,  which  she  did 
not  forgive  herself  till  she  had  received  the  absolution  of  the 
tribunal  to  which  we  all  bow." 

"Blanche,  Blanche,"  cried  the  old  man,  suddenly  burst- 
ing into  tears  over  his  wife's  head,  "  do  you  want  to  kill 
me?" 

He  raised  her  in  his  arms  with  unwonted  strength,  and 
clasping  her  to  him,  "Have  I  no  forgiveness  to  ask ?"  he 
went  on.  "  Have  I  not  often  been  harsh?  Are  you  not  mag- 
nifying a  child's  scruples?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered.  "But  be  tender,  my  dear,  to 
the  weakness  of  the  dying ;  soothe  my  soul.  When  you  are 
in  the  hour  of  death  you  will  remember  that  I  blessed  you  as 
we  parted. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  leave  to  our  friend  here  this  pledge 
of  deep  regard  ?  "  said  she,  pointing  to  a  letter  on  the  chim- 
ney-shelf. "  He  is  now  my  adopted  son,  nothing  more.  The 


I 

THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  281 

heart,  my  dear  Count,  has  its  bequests  to  make ;  my  last 
words  are  to  impress  on  our  dear  Felix  certain  duties  to  be 
carried  out ;  I  do  not  think  I  have  expected  too  much  of  him 
— grant  that  I  may  not  have  expected  too  much  of  you  in 
allowing  myself  to  bequeath  to  him  a  few  thoughts.  I  am 
still  a  woman,"  she  said,  bowing  her  head  with  sweet  melan- 
choly ;  "  after  being  forgiven,  I  ask  a  favor.  Read  it,  but  not 
until  after  my  death,"  she  added,  handing  me  the  mysterious 
manuscript. 

The  Count  saw  his  wife  turn  paler ;  he  lifted  her,  and  him- 
self carried  her  to  the  bed,  where  we  gathered  round  her. 

"  Felix,"  said  she,  '•'  I  may  have  done  you  some  wrong.  I 
may  often  have  given  you  pain  by  leading  you  to  hope  for 
joys  I  dared  not  give  ;  but  is  it  not  to  my  courage  as  a  wife 
and  as  a  mother  that  I  owe  the  comfort  of  dying  reconciled 
to  you  all  ?  So  you,  too,  will  forgive  me,  you  who  have  so 
often  accused  me,  and  whose  injustice  was  a  pleasure  to  me." 

The  Abbe  Birotteau  put  his  finger  to  his  lips.  At  this  hint 
the  dying  woman  bowed  her  head  ;  weakness  was  too  much 
for  her ;  she  waved  her  hands  to  express  that  the  priest,  the 
children,  and  the  servants  were  to  be  admitted  ;  then,  with  a 
commanding  gesture  to  me,  she  pointed  to  the  Count,  quite 
crushed,  and  her  children  as  they  entered.  The  sight  of  that 
father,  whose  insanity  none  knew  save  herself  and  me,  the 
guardian  now  of  these  delicate  creatures,  inspired  her  with 
mute  entreaties  which  fell  on  my  soul  like  sacred  fire.  Before 
receiving  extreme  unction  she  begged  pardon  of  her  servants 
for  being  sometimes  rough  with  them,  she  asked  their  prayers, 
and  commended  each  separately  to  the  Count.  'She  nobly 
confessed  that,  during  the  past  few  months,  she  had  uttered 
complaints  little  worthy  of  a  Christian,  which  might  have 
scandalized  her  dependents.  She  had  been  cold  to  her  chil- 
dren, and  had  given  way  to  unseemly  sentiments ;  but  she 
ascribed  to  her  intolerable  sufferings  this  want  of  submission 
to  the  will  of  God. 


282  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

Finally,  she  publicly  thanked  the  Abbe  Birotteau,  with 
touching  and  heartfelt  effusiveness,  for  having  shown  her  the 
vanity  of  all  earthly  things. 

When  she  ceased  speaking  all  began  to  pray,  and  the  cure 
of  Sache  administered  the  viaticum.  A  few  minutes  later  her 
breathing  became  difficult,  a  cloud  dimmed  her  eyes,  though 
she  presently  opened  them  again  to  give  me  a  last  look,  and 
she  died  in  the  presence  of  us  all,  hearing  perhaps  the  chorus 
of  our  sobs. 

At  the  moment  when  she  breathed  her  last  sigh — the  last 
pang  of  a  life  that  was  one  long  pain,  I  felt  myself  struck  by 
a  blow  which  paralyzed  all  my  faculties. 

The  Count  and  I  remained  by  the  bed  of  death  all  night, 
with  the  two  abbes  and  the  cure,  watching  the  dead  by  the 
light  of  the  tapers,  as  fhe  lay  on  the  mattress,  calm  now, 
where  she  had  suffered  so  much. 

This  was  my  first  personal  knowledge  of  death.  I  sat  the 
whole  night  through,  my  eyes  fixed  on  Henriette,  fascinated 
by  the  pure  expression  given  by  the  stilling  of  every  tempest, 
by  the  pallor  of  the  face  in  which  I  still  read  numberless  affec- 
tions, which  could  no  longer  respond  to  my  love. 

What  majesty  there  is  in  that  silence  and  coldness  !  How 
many  reflections  do  they  utter  !  What  beauty  in  that  perfect 
repose,  what  command  in  that  motionless  sleep  !  All  the  past 
is  there,  and  the  future  has  begun.  Ah  !  I  loved  her  as  well 
in  death  as  I  had  in  life. 

In  the  morning  the  Count  went  to  bed,  the  three  weary 
priests  fell  asleep  at  that  hour  of  exhaustion,  so  well  known 
to  all  who  have  watched  through  a  night.  And  then,  alone 
with  her,  I  could,  unseen,  kiss  her  brow  with  all  the  love  she 
had  never  allowed  me  to  express. 

On  the  next  day  but  one,  in  a  cool  autumn  morning,  we 
followed  the  Countess  to  her  last  home.  She  was  borne  to 
the  grave  by  the  old  huntsman,  the  two  Martineaus,  and  Ma- 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  283 

nette's  husband.  We  went  down  the  road  I  had  so  gleefully 
come  up  on  the  day  when  I  returned  to  her.  We  crossed  the 
valley  of  the  Indre  to  reach  the  little  graveyard  of  Sache — a 
humble  village  cemetery,  lying  at  the  back  of  the  church  on 
the  brow  of  a  hill,  where  she  had  desired  to  be  buried,  out  of 
Christian  humility,  with  a  plain  cross  of  black  wood,  like  a 
poor  laboring  woman,  as  she  had  said. 

When,  from  the  middle  of  the  valley,  I  caught  sight  of  the 
village  church  and  the  graveyard,  I  was  seized  with  a  con- 
vulsive shudder.  Alas  !  we  each  have  a  Golgotha  in  our  life, 
where  we  leave  our  first  three  and  thirty  years,  receiving  then 
a  spear-thrust  in  our  heart,  and  feeling  on  our  head  a  crown 
of  thorns  in  the  place  of  the  crown  of  roses :  this  hill  was  to 
me  the  Mount  of  Expiation. 

We  were  followed  by  an  immense  crowd  that  had  collected 
to  express  the  regrets  of  the  whole  valley  where  she  had 
silently  buried  endless  acts  of  benevolence.  We  knew  from 
Manette,  whom  she  trusted  entirely,  that  she  economized 
in  dress  to  help  the  poor  when  her  savings  were  insuffi- 
cient. Naked  children  had  been  clothed,  baby-linen  supplied, 
mothers  rescued,  sacks  of  corn  bought  of  the  millers  in  winter 
for  helpless  old  men,  a  cow  bestowed  on  a  poverty-stricken 
household ;  in  short,  all  the  good  works  of  a  Christian,  a 
mother,  a  lady  bountiful ;  and  sums  of  money  given  to  help 
loving  couples  to  marry,  or  to  provide  substitutes  for  young 
men  drawn  by  the  conscription,  touching  gifts  from  the  loving 
soul  that  had  said:  "The  happiness  of  others  becomes  the 
joy  of  those  who  can  no  longer  be  happy." 

These  facts,  talked  over  every  evening  for  the  last  three 
days,  had  brought  together  a  vast  throng.  I  followed  the 
bier  with  Jacques  and  the  two  abbes.  According  to  custom 
neither  Madeleine  nor  the  Count  were  present;  they  remained 
alone  at  Clochegourde.  Manette  insisted  on  coming. 

"Poor  madame  !  poor  madame  !  she  is  happy  now!"  I 
heard  many  times  spoken  through  sobs. 


284  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

At  the  moment  when  the  procession  turned  off  from  the 
road  to  the  hills  there  was  a  unanimous  groan,  mingled  with 
weeping,  that  was  enough  to  make  one  think  that  the  valley 
had  lost  its  soul. 

The  church  was  full  of  people.  After  the  service  we  went 
to  the  cemetery  where  she  was  to  be  buried  close  to  the  cross. 
When  I  heard  the  stones  and  gravel  rattle  on  the  coffin  my 
strength  failed  me.  I  had  to  ask  the  Martineaus  to  support 
me  and  they  led  me  half-dead  to  the  Chateau  of  Sache  ;  there 
the  owners  politely  offered  me  shelter,  which  I  accepted.  I 
confess  I  could  not  endure  to  return  to  Clochegourde ;  I  would 
not  go  to  Frapesle  whence  I  could  see  Henriette's  home. 
Here  I  was  near  her. 

I  spent  some  days  in  a  room  whose  windows  overlooked  the 
tranquil  and  solitary  coombe  of  which  I  have  spoken ;  it  is  a 
deep  ravine  in  the  hills,  overgrown  with  ancient  oaks,,  and 
down  it  a  torrent  rushes  in  heavy  rains.  The  scene  was  suited 
to  the  severe  and  solemn  meditations  to  which  I  gave  my- 
self up. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  following  that  fatal  night,  I  had 
seen  how  intrusive  my  presence  at  Clochegourde  would  be. 
The  Count  had  given  way  to  violent  feelings  at  Henriette's 
death ;  still,  the  dreadful  event  was  expected,  and  in  the 
depths  of  his  heart  there  was  a  prepared  calmness  verging  on 
indifference.  I  had  more  than  once  seen  this,  and  when  the 
Countess  had  given  me  the  letter  I  dared  not  open,  when  she 
spoke  of  her  affection  for  me,  this  man,  suspicious  as  he  was, 
had  not  given  me  the  fulminating  glance  I  had  expected.  He 
had  ascribed  his  wife's  words  to  the  excessive  delicacy  of  her 
conscience,  which  he  knew  to  be  so  pure. 

This  selfish  insensibility  was  but  natural.  The  souls  of 
these  two  beings  had  been  no  more  wedded  than  their  bodies, 
they  had  never  had  that  incessant  intimacy  which  renews  feel- 
ing ;  they  had  no  communion  of  griefs  or  joys,  those  close 
ties  which,  when  they  are  broken,  leave  us  sore  at  so  many 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  285 

points,  because  they  are  one  with  every  fibre,  because  they 
are  rooted  in  every  fold  of  the  heart,  while  soothing  the  soul 
which  sanctions  every  such  tie. 

Madeleine's  hostility  closed  Clochegourde  to  me.  This 
stern  young  thing  was  not  inclined  to  come  to  terms  with 
her  aversion  over  her  mother's  grave;  and  I  should  have 
been  dreadfully  uncomfortable  between  the  Count,  who  would 
have  talked  of  himself,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who 
would  have  made  no  secret  of  her  invincible  dislike.  And  to 
live  on  such  terms  there — where  of  old  the  very  flowers  had 
caressed  me,  where  the  terrace  steps  were  eloquent,  where  all 
my  memories  lent  poetry  to  the  balconies,  the  parapets,  the 
balustrades  and  terraces,  to  the  trees,  and  to  every  point  of 
view  ;  to  be  hated  where  all  had  been  love !  I  could  not 
endure  the  thought.  So  my  mind  was  made  up  from  the  first. 
This  then,  alas  !  was  the  end  of  the  strongest  love  that  ever 
dwelt  in  the  heart  of  man.  In  the  eyes  of  strangers  my  con- 
duct would  seem  blameworthy,  but  it  had  the  sanction  of  my 
conscience. 

This  is  the  outcome  of  the  finest  sentiments,  the  greatest 
dramas  of  youth.  We  all  set  forth  one  fine  morning,  as  I 
had  started  from  Tours  for  Clochegourde,  annexing  the  world, 
our  hearts  craving  for  love ;  then,  when  our  treasure  has  been 
through  the  crucible,  when  we  have  mixed  with  men,  and 
known  events,  it  all  seems  unaccountably  small,  we  find  no 
little  gold  among  the  ashes.  Such  is  life — life  in  its  reality ! 
— a  great  deal  of  aspiration,  a  small  result. 

I  meditated  on  myself  at  great  length,  wondering  what  I 
could  do  after  a  blow  that  had  cut  down  all  my  flowers.  I 
determined  to  rush  into  politics  and  science,  by  the  tortuous 
paths  of  ambition,  to  cut  women  out  of  my  life  entirely,  and 
be  a  statesman — cold,  passionless,  faithful  to  the  saint  I  had 
loved.  My  thoughts  went  far  away,  out  of  sight,  while  my 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  glorious  background  of  golden  oaks 
with  their  sombre  heads  and  feet  of  bronze.  I  asked  myself 


286  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

whether  Henriette's  virtue  had  not  been  mere  ignorance, 
whether  I  was  really  guilty  of  her  death.  I  struggled  against 
the  burden  of  remorse.  At  last,  one  limpid  autumn  day, 
under  one  of  heaven's  latest  smiles,  so  lovely  in  Touraine,  I 
read  the  letter  which,  by  her  instructions,  I  was  not  to  open 
before  her  death — and  I  read  as  follows  : 

Madame  de  Mortsauf  to  the  Vicomte  Felix  de  Vandenessc. 

"  Felix,  friend  too  much  beloved,  I  must  now  open  my 
heart  to  you,  less  to  tell  you  how  well  I  love  you  than  to  show 
you  the  extent  of  your  obligations,  by  revealing  the  depth 
and  severity  of  the  wounds  you  have  made  in  it.  At  this 
moment,  when  I  am  dropping,  exhausted  by  the  fatigues  of 
the  journey,  worn  out  by  the  strokes  I  have  received  in  the 
fight,  the  woman,  happily,  is  dead,  the  mother  alone  survives. 
You  will  see,  my  dear,  how  you  were  the  first  cause  of  my 
woes.  Though  I  afterward  submitted,  not  unwillingly,  to 
your  blows,  I  am  now  dying  of  a  last  wound  inflicted  by  you ; 
but  there  is  exquisite  delight  in  feeling  one's  self  crushed  by 
the  man  one  loves. 

"  Before  long  my  sufferings  will,  no  doubt,  rob  me  of  my 
strength,  so  I  take  advantage  of  the  last  gleam  of  intelligence 
to  implore  you,  once  more,  to  fill  the  place  toward  my  chil- 
dren of  the  heart  you  have  robbed  them  of.  If  I  loved  you 
less,  I  should  lay  this  charge  on  you  authoritatively,  but  I 
would  rather  leave  you  to  assume  it  out  of  saintly  repentance, 
and  also  as  a  perpetuation  of  your  love  for  me.  Has  not  our 
love  been  always  mingled  with  repentant  reflections  and  ex- 
piatory fears?  And  we  love  each  other  still,  I  know  it. 

"  Your  fault  is  fatal,  not  so  much  through  your  own  act  as 
through  the  importance  I  have  given  it  in  my  own  heart. 
Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  was  jealous — jealous  unto  death  ? 
Well,  I  am  dying.  Yet,  be  comforted.  We  have  satisfied 
human  law.  The  church,  through  one  of  its  purest  speakers, 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  287 

has  assured  me  that  God  will  show  mercy  to  those  who  have 
sacrificed  their  natural  weakness  to  the  commandments.  So 
let  me,  my  beloved,  tell  you  all,  for  I  would  not  keep  a  single 
thought  from  you.  What  I  shall  confess  to  God  in  my  last 
hour,  you  too  must  know  who  are  the  king  of  my  heart,  as 
he  is  the  King  of  Heaven. 

"  Until  the  ball  given  to  the  Due  d'Angoulgme,  the  only 
one  I  ever  went  to,  marriage  had  left  me  in  the  perfect  ignor- 
ance which  gives  a  maiden's  soul  its  angelic  beauty.  I  was, 
indeed,  a  mother,  but  love  had  given  me  none  of  its  permitted 
pleasures.  How  was  it  that  this  happened  ?  I  know  not ; 
nor  do  I  know  by  what  law  everything  in  me  was  changed  in 
an  instant.  Do  you  still  remember  your  kisses  ?  They  mas- 
tered my  life,  they  burnt  into  my  soul.  The  fire  in  your 
blood  awoke  the  fire  in  mine ;  your  youth  became  one  with 
my  youth ;  your  longing  entered  into  my  heart.  When  I 
stood  up  so  proudly,  I  felt  a  sensation  for  which  I  know  no 
word  in  any  language,  for  children  have  found  no  word  to 
express  the  marriage  of  their  eyes  to  the  light  or  the  kiss  of 
life  on  their  lips.  Yes,  it  was  indeed  the  sound  that  first 
aroused  the  echo,  the  light  flashing  in  darkness,  the  impulse 
given  to  the  universe — at  least,  it  was  as  instantaneous  as  all 
these ;  but  far  more  beautiful,  for  it  was  life  to  a  soul !  I 
understood  that  there  was  in  the  world  something  I  had  never 
known,  a  power  more  glorious  than  thought;  that  it  was  all 
thought,  all  power,  a  whole  future  in  a  common  emotion.  I 
was  now  no  more  than  half  a  mother.  This  thunderbolt, 
falling  on  my  heart,  fired  the  desires  that  slept  there  unknown 
to  me  ;  I  suddenly  understood  what  my  aunt  had  meant  when 
she  used  to  kiss  my  brow  and  say,  '  Poor  Henriette ! ' 

"  On  my  return  to  Clochegourde,  the  springtime,  the  first 
leaves,  the  scent  of  flowers,  the  pretty  fleecy  clouds,  the  Indre, 
the  sky,  all  spoke  to  me  in  a  tongue  I  had  never  yet  under- 
stood, and  which  restored  to  my  soul  some  of  the  impetus 
you  had  given  to  my  senses.  If  you  have  forgotten  those 


288  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

terrible  kisses,  I  have  never  been  able  to  efface  them  from  my 
memory ;  I  am  dying  of  them  ! 

"  Yes,  every  time  I  have  seen  you  since,  you  have  revived 
the  impression ;  I  have  thrilled  from  head  to  foot  when  I  saw 
you,  from  the  mere  presentiment  of  your  coming.  Neither 
time  nor  my  firm  determination  has  been  able  to  quench  this 
insistent  rapture.  I  involuntarily  wondered,  What  then  must 
pleasure  be  ?  Our  exchange  of  glances,  your  respectful  kisses 
on  my  hands,  my  arm  resting  in  yours,  your  voice  in  its 
tender  tones;  in  short,  the  veriest  trifles  disturbed  me  so 
violently  that  a  cloud  almost  always  darkened  my  sight,  and 
the  hum  of  my  rebellious  blood  sang  in  my  ears.  Oh  !  if  in 
those  moments  when  I  was  colder  to  you  than  ever,  you  had 
taken  me  in  your  arms,  I  should  have  died  of  happiness. 
Sometimes  I  have  longed  that  you  might  be  overbold — but 
prayer  soon  drove  out  that  evil  thought.  Your  name  spoken 
by  my  children  filled  my  heart  with  hotter  blood  which 
mounted  in  a  flush  to  my  face,  and  I  would  lay  snares  for 
poor  little  Madeleine,  to  make  her  mention  it,  so  dearly  did 
I  love  the  surge  of  that  emotion. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  all?  Your  writing  had  its  charms; 
I  gazed  at  your  letters  as  we  study  a  portrait.  And  if  from 
that  first  day  you  had  such  a  fateful  power  over  me,  you  may 
imagine,  my  friend,  that  it  must  have  become  infinite  when 
you  allowed  me  to  read  to  the  bottom  of  your  soul.  What 
ecstasy  was  mine  when  I  found  you  so  pure,  so  perfectly  true, 
gifted  with  such  great  qualities,  capable  of  such  great  things, 
and  already  so  sorely  tried  !  A  man  and  a  child,  timid  and 
brave  !  What  joy  it  was  to  find  that  we  had  been  dedicated 
to  a  common  suffering  ! 

"  From  that  evening  when  we  confided  in  each  other,  to  lose 
you  was  death  to  me  ;  I  kept  you  near  me  out  of  selfishness.  I 
was  deeply  touched  to  find  that  Monsieur  de  la  Berge  was  cer- 
tain that  I  should  die  of  your  absence  ;  he  then  had  read  my 
heart.  He  decided  that  I  was  indispensable  to  my  children 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  289 

and  to  the  Count ;  he  desired  me  not  to  forbid  you  the  house, 
for  I  promised  him  to  remain  pure  in  deed  and  thought. 
'Thought  is  involuntary,'  he  said,  '  but  it  may  be  guarded  in 
the  midst  of  torments.'  *  If  I  think,'  said  I,  '  all  will  be  lost ; 
save  me  from  myself !  He  must  stay  near  me,  but  I  must 
remain  virtuous — help  me  ! ' 

"  The  good  old  man,  though  most  severe,  was  indulgent  to 
my  honest  purpose :  '  You  can  love  him  as  a  son,  and  look 
forward  to  his  marrying  your  daughter,'  he  replied. 

"  I  bravely  took  up  a  life  of  endurance  that  I  might  not 
lose  you,  and  suffered  gladly  when  I  was  sure  that  we  were 
called  to  bear  the  same  burden.  Ah,  God  !  I  remained 
neutral,  faithful  to  my  husband,  and  never  allowing  you, 
Felix,  to  take  a  step  in  your  dominion.  The  frenzy  of  my 
passions  reacted  on  my  faculties.  I  regarded  the  trials  in- 
flicted on  me  by  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  as  expiations,  and 
endured  them  with  pride  to  outrage  my  guilty  wishes.  Of  old 
I  had  been  prone  to  discontent,  but  after  you  came  to  be  near 
us  I  recovered  some  spirit,  which  was  a  satisfaction  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf.  But  for  the  strength  you  lent  me  I  should 
long  ago  have  sunk  under  the  inward  life  I  have  told  you  of. 
Yes,  you  have  counted  for  much  in  the  doing  of  my  duty.  It 
is  the  same  with  regard  to  the  children  ;  I  felt  I  had  robbed 
them  of  something,  and  I  feared  I  could  never  do  enough  for 
them.  Henceforth  my  life  was  one  continued  anguish  that 
I  cherished.  Feeling  myself  less  a  mother,  less  a  faithful 
wife,  remorse  made  its  abode  in  my  heart,  and  for  fear  of 
failing  in  my  duties  I  constantly  overdid  them.  Hence,  to 
save  myself,  I  set  Madeleine  between  us,  intending  you  for 
each  other,  and  thus  raising  a  barrier  between  you  and  me. 
An  unavailing  barrier  !  Nothing  could  repress  the  stress  of 
feeling  you  gave  me.  Absent  or  present  your  power  was  the 
same.  I  loved  Madeleine  more  than  Jacques,  because  Made- 
leine was  to  be  yours. 

"  Still,  I  could  not  yield  to  my  daughter  without  a  struggle  ; 
19 


290  THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

I  told  myself  that  I  was  but  twenty-eight  when  I  first  met  you, 
and  that  you  were  nearly  twenty-two.  I  abridged  distances,  I 
allowed  myself  to  indulge  false  hopes.  Oh,  my  dear  Felix, 
I  make  this  confession  to  spare  you  some  remorse;  partly, 
perhaps,  to  show  you  that  I  was  not  insensible,  that  our  suffer- 
ings in  love  were  cruelly  equalized,  and  that  Arabella  was  in 
nothing  my  superior.  I,  too,  was  one  of  those  daughters  of 
the  fallen  race  whom  men  love  so  well. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  the  conflict  was  so  fearful  that  I 
wept  all  the  night,  and  night  after  night ;  my  hair  fell  out — 
you  have  that  hair  !  You  remember  Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  s 
illness.  Your  magnanimity  at  that  time,  far  from  raising  me, 
made  me  fall  lower.  Alas  !  there  was  a  time  when  I  longed 
to  throw  myself  into  your  arms  as  the  reward  of  so  much 
heroism  ;  but  that  madness  was  brief.  I  laid  it  at  the  foot- 
stool of  God  during  that  mass  which  you  refused  to  attend. 
Then  Jacques'  illness  and  Madeleine's  ill  health  seemed  to  me 
as  threats  from  God,  who  was  trying  thus  to  recall  the  erring 
sheep.  And  your  love  for  that  Englishwoman,  natural  as  it 
was,  revealed  to  me  secrets  of  which  I  knew  nothing ;  I  loved 
you  more  than  I  knew  I  did.  I  lost  sight  of  Madeleine. 

"  The  constant  agitations  of  this  storm-tossed  life,  the 
efforts  I  made  to  subdue  myself  with  no  help  but  that  of  re- 
ligion, have  laid  the  seeds  of  the  disease  I  am  dying  of. 
That  dreadful  blow  brought  on  attacks  of  which  I  would  say 
nothing.  I  saw  in  death  the  only  possible  conclusion  to  this 
unrevealed  tragedy. 

"  I  lived  a  whole  life  of  passion,  jealousy,  fury,  during  the 
two  months  between  the  news  given  me  by  my  mother  of  your 
connection  with  Lady  Dudley  and  your  arrival  here.  I 
wanted  to  go  to  Paris,  I  thirsted  for  murder,  I  longed  for 
the  death  of  that  woman,  I  was  insensible  to  the  affection  of 
my  children.  Prayer,  which  until  then  had  been  a  balm  to 
me,  had  no  further  effect  on  my  spirit.  It  was  jealousy  that 
made  the  breach  through  which  death  entered  in.  Still,  I 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  291 

maintained  a  placid  front;  yes,  that  time  of  conflict  was  a 
secret  between  God  and  me. 

"  When  I  was  quite  sure  that  I  was  as  much  loved  by  you 
as  you  were  by  me,  and  that  it  was  nature  only  and  not  your 
heart  that  had  made  you  faithless,  I  longed  to  live — but  it 
was  too  late.  God  had  taken  me  under  His  protection,  in 
pity  no  doubt  for  a  being  true  to  herself,  true  to  Him,  whose 
sufferings  had  so  constantly  brought  her  to  the  gates  of  the 
sanctuary.  My  best-beloved,  God  has  judged  me,  Monsieur 
de  Mortsauf  will  no  doubt  forgive  me,  but  you — will  you  be 
merciful  ?  Will  you  listen  to  the  voice  which  at  this  moment 
reaches  you  from  my  tomb  ?  Will  you  make  good  the  dis- 
asters for  which  we  both  are  responsible — you,  perhaps,  less 
than  I  ?  You  know  what  I  would  ask  of  you.  Be  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Mortsauf  what  a  sister  of  charity  is  to  a  sick  man  ; 
listen  to  him,  love  him — no  one  will  love  him.  Stand  be- 
tween him  and  his  children  as  I  have  always  done.  Fill  that 
vacant  place. 

"The  task  will  not  be  a  long  one.  Jacques  will  soon  leave 
home  to  live  in  Paris  with  his  grandfather,  and  you  have 
promised  to  guide  him  among  the  rocks  of  the  world.  As  to 
Madeleine,  she  will  marry;  would  that  she  might  some  day 
accept  you  !  She  is  all  myself,  and  she  is  also  strong  in  the 
will  that  I  lack,  in  the  energy  needed  in  the  companion  of 
a  man  whose  career  must  carry  him  through  the  storms  of 
political  life ;  she  is  clever  and  clear-sighted.  If  your  des- 
tinies were  united  she  would  be  happier  than  her  mother  has 
been.  By  acquiring  a  right  to  carry  on  my  work  at  Cloche- 
gourde  you  would  wipe  out  such  errors  as  have  been  insuffi- 
ciently atoned  for,  though  forgiven  in  heaven  and  on  earth, 
for  he  is  generous  and  will  forgive. 

"  I  am  still  egotistical,  you  see  ;  but  is  not  that  a  proof  of 
overweening  love  ?  I  want  you  to  love  me  in  those  that  be- 
long to  me.  Never  having  been  yours  by  right,  I  bequeath 
to  you  my  cares  and  duties.  If  you  will  not  marry  Made- 


292  THE   LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

leine,  at  least  you  will  secure  the  repose  of  my  soul  by  making 
Monsieur  de  Mortsauf  as  happy  as  it  is  possible  for  him  to  be. 

"  Farewell,  dear  son  of  my  heart ;  this  is  a  perfectly  ra- 
tional leave-taking,  still  full  of  life  ;  the  adieux  of  a  soul  on 
which  you  have  bestowed  joys  so  great  that  you  should  feel 
no  remorse  over  the  catastrophe  they  have  led  to.  And  I 
say  this  as  I  remember  that  you  love  me  ;  for  I  am  going  to 
the  home  of  rest,  a  victim  to  duty,  and — which  makes  me 
shudder — I  cannot  go  without  a  regret  !  God  knows  better 
than  I  can  whether  I  have  obeyed  His  holy  laws  in  the  spirit. 
I  have  often  stumbled,  no  doubt,  but  I  never  fell,  and  the 
most  pressing  cause  of  my  errors  lay  in  the  temptations  that 
surrounded  me.  The  Lord  will  see  me,  quaking  quite  as 
much  as  though  I  had  yielded. 

"  Once  more  farewell — such  a  farewell  as  I  yesterday  bade 
our  beloved  valley,  in  whose  lap  I  shall  soon  be  lying,  and  to 
which  you  will  often  come,  will  you  not  ? 

"  HENRI ETTE." 

I  sat,  sunk  in  a  gulf  of  meditations  as  I  here  saw  the  un- 
known depths  of  her  life  lighted  up  by  this  last  flash.  The 
clouds  of  my  selfishness  vanished.  So  she  had  suffered  as 
much  as  I — more,  since  she  was  dead.  She  had  believed  that 
everybody  else  must  be  kind  to  her  friend  ;  her  love  had  so 
effectually  blinded  her  that  she  had  never  suspected  her  daugh- 
ter's animosity.  This  last  proof  of  her  affection  was  a  painful 
thing ;  poor  Henriette  wanted  to  give  me  Clochegourde  and 
her  daughter  ! 

Natalie,  since  the  dreadful  day  when,  for  the  first  time  I 
entered  a  graveyard,  following  the  remains  of  that  noble  crea- 
ture, whom  you  now  know,  the  sun  has  been  less  warm  and 
bright,  the  night  has  been  blacker,  action  has  been  less  prompt 
with  me,  thought  a  greater  burden.  We  lay  many  to  rest 
under  the  earth,  but  some  of  them,  especially  dear,  have  our 
hearts  for  their  winding-sheets,  their  memory  is  perpetually  one 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  293 

with  its  throbs ;  we  think  of  them  as  we  breathe ;  they  dwell 
in  us  by  a  beautiful  law  of  metempsychosis  peculiar  to  love. 
There  is  a  soul  within  my  soul.  When  I  do  any  good  thing, 
when  I  speak  a  noble  word,  it  is  that  soul  which  speaks  and 
acts ;  all  that  is  good  in  me  emanates  from  that  tomb  as  from 
a  lily  whose  scent  embalms  the  air.  Mockery,  evil  speaking, 
all  you  blame  in  me,  is  myself. 

And  now,  when  a  cloud  dims  my  eyes  and  they  look  up  to 
heaven  after  long  resting  on  the  earth,  when  my  lips  make  no 
response  to  your  words  or  your  kindness,  do  not  henceforth 
ask  me,  "  What  are  you  thinking  about?  " 

Dear  Natalie,  I  had  ceased  writing  for  some  little  time ; 
these  reminiscences  had  agitated  me  too  painfully.  I  must 
now  relate  the  events  that  followed  on  this  misfortune.  They 
can  be  told  in  a  few  words.  When  a  life  consists  only  of 
action  and  stir  it  is  soon  recorded;  but  when  it  is  spent  in 
the  loftiest  regions  of  the  soul  the  story  must  be  diffuse. 

Henriette's  letter  showed  me  one  bright  star  of  hope.  In 
this  tremendous  shipwreck  I  saw  an  island  I  might  reach.  To 
live  at  Clochegourde  with  Madeleine  and  devote  my  life  to 
her  was  a  lot  to  satisfy  all  the  ideas  that  tossed  my  soul ;  but 
I  must  first  learn  Madeleine's  true  opinions.  I  had  to  take 
leave  of  the  Count ;  I  went  to  Clochegourde  to  call  on  him, 
and  met  him  on  the  terrace.  There  we  walked  together  for 
some  time. 

At  first  he"  spoke  of  his  wife  as  a  man  who  understood  the 
extent  of  his  loss,  and  all  the  ruin  it  had  wrought  in  his  home 
life.  But  after  that  first  cry  of  sorrow,  he  was  evidently  more 
anxious  about  the  future  than  about  the  present.  He  was 
afraid  of  his  daughter,  who  was  not,  he  said,  so  gentle  as  her 
mother.  Madeleine's  firm  temper  and  a  tinge  of  something 
heroical,  mingling  in  her  with  her  mother's  gracious  nature, 
terrified  the  old  man,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  Henriette's 
tender  kindness;  he  foresaw  meeting  a  will  which  nothing 
could  bend.  Still,  what  comforted  him  in  his  loss  was  the 


294  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

certainty  of  joining  his  wife  ere  long ;  the  agitations  and 
grief  of  the  last  few  days  had  increased  his  malady  and 
brought  on  his  old  pains ;  the  conflict  he  foresaw  between  his 
authority  as  the  father  and  his  daughter's  as  the  mistress  of 
the  house  would  fill  his  last  days  with  bitterness,  for  in  cases 
where  he  could  contend  with  his  wife  he  would  have  to  give 
way  to  his  child.  And  then  his  son  would  go  away,  his 
daughter  would  marry — what  sort  of  son-in-law  should  he 
have? 

In  the  course  of  an  hour,  while  he  talked  of  nothing  but 
himself,  claiming  my  friendship  for  his  wife's  sake,  I  clearly 
saw  before  me  the  grandiose  figure  of  the  emigre,  one  of  the 
most  impressive  types  of  our  century.  In  appearance  he  was 
frail  and  broken,  but  life  still  clung  to  him  by  reason  of  his 
simple  habits  and  agricultural  occupations. 

At  this  moment,  when  I  write,  he  still  lives. 

Though  Madeleine  could  see  us  pacing  the  terrace,  she  did 
not  come  down  ;  she  came  out  to  the  steps  and  went  in  again 
several  times,  to  mark  her  disdain  of  me.  I  seized  a  moment 
when  she  had  come  out  to  beg  the  Count  to  go  up  to  the 
house  ;  I  wanted  to  speak  to  Madeleine,  and  I  made  a  pretext 
of  a  last  request  left  by  the  Countess — I  had  no  other  way  of 
seeing  her ;  the  Count  went  to  fetch  her,  and  left  us  together 
on  the  terrace. 

"Dear  Madeleine,"  said  I,  "I  must  speak  a  word  with 
you.  Was  it  not  here  that  your  mother  used  to  listen  to  me 
when  she  had  less  to  blame  me  for  than  the  circumstances 
of  her  life  ?  My  life  and  happiness  are,  as  you  know,  bound 
up  with  this  spot,  and  you  banish  me  by  the  coldness  you  have 
assumed  instead  of  the  brotherly  regard  which  used  to  unite 
us  and  which  death  has  made  closer  by  a  common  sorrow. 
Dear  Madeleine,  for  you  I  would  this  instant  give  my  life 
without  any  hope  of  reward,  without  your  knowing  it  even, 
for  so  truly  do  we  love  the  children  of  the  women  who  have 
been  good  to  us  in  their  lifetime — you  know  nothing  of  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  295 

scheme  which  your  adored  mother  had  cherished  for  the  last 
seven  years,  and  which  may  perhaps  affect  your  views — but  I 
will  take  no  advantage  of  that !  All  I  beseech  of  you  is  that  you 
will  not  deprive  me  of  the  right  of  coming  to  breathe  the  air 
on  this  terrace,  and  to  wait  until  time  has  modified  your  ideas 
of  social  life.  At  this  moment  I  would  not  shock  them  for 
the  world.  I  respect  the  grief  that  misleads  you,  for  it  de- 
prives me,  too,  of  the  power  of  judging  fairly  of  the  position 
in  which  I  find  myself.  The  saint  who  is  now  watching  over 
us  will  approve  of  the  reserve  I  maintain  when  I  only  ask  you 
to  remain  neutral  as  between  your  own  feelings  and  myself. 

"I  love  you  too  truly,  in  spite  of  the  aversion  you  show 
for  me,  to  lay  a  proposal  before  the  Count  which  he  would  hail 
with  eager  satisfaction.  Be  free.  But,  by-and-by,  consider 
that  you  will  never  know  anybody  in  the  world  so  well  as  you 
know  me,  that  no  man  can  bear  in  his  heart  feelings  more 
devoted " 

So  far  Madeleine  had  listened  with  downcast  eyes,  but  she 
stopped  me  with  a  gesture. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  agitation, 
"I,  too,  know  all  your  mind.  But  I  can  never  change  in 
feeling  toward  you,  and  I  would  rather  drown  myself  in  the 
Indre  than  unite  myself  with  you.  Of  myself  I  will  not 
speak,  but  if  my  mother's  name  can  still  influence  you,  in  her 
name  I  beg  you  never  to  come  to  Clochegourde  so  long  as  I 
am  here.  The  mere  sight  of  you  occasions  me  such  distress 
as  I  cannot  describe,  and  I  shall  never  get  over  it." 

She  bowed  to  me  with  much  dignity  and  went  up  to  the 
house,  never  looking  back ;  as  rigid  as  her  mother  had  been 
once,  and  once  only,  and  quite  pitiless.  The  girl's  clear  sight 
had,  though  only  of  late,  seen  to  the  bottom  of  her  mother's 
heart,  and  her  hatred  of  the  man  who  seemed  to  her  so  fatal 
was  increased,  perhaps,  by  some  regret  at  her  own  innocent 
complicity. 

Here  was  an  impassable  gulf.     Madeleine  hated  me  without 


296  THE   LILY   OF  THE    VALLEY. 

choosing  to  ascertain  whether  I  was  the  cause  or  the  victim 
of  her  griefs ;  and  she  would,  I  dare  say,  have  hated  both  her 
mother  and  me  if  we  had  been  happy.  So  this  fair  castle  of 
promised  happiness  was  in  ruins. 

I  alone  was  ever  to  know  the  whole  life  of  this  noble  un- 
known woman,  I  alone  was  in  the  secret  of  her  feelings.  I 
alone  had  studied  her  soul  in  its  complete  grandeur.  Neither 
her  mother,  nor  her  father,  nor  her  husband,  nor  her  children 
had  understood  her. 

It  is  a  sirange  thing !  I  can  turn  over  that  pile  of  ashes, 
and  take  pleasure  in  spreading  them  before  you ;  we  may  all 
find  among  them  something  of  what  has  been  dearest  to  us. 
How  many  families  have  their  Henriette  !  How  many  noble 
creatures  depart  from  earth  without  having  met  with  an  intelli- 
gent friend  to  tell  their  story,  and  to  sound  their  hearts,  and 
measure  their  depth  and  height !  This  is  human  life  in  its 
stern  reality;  and  often  mothers  know  no  more  of  their  chil- 
dren than  the  children  know  of  them.  And  it  is  the  same 
with  married  couples,  lovers,  brothers  and  sisters.  Could  I 
foresee  that  the  day  would  come  when,  over  my  father's  grave, 
I  should  go  to  law  with  Charles  de  Vandenesse,  the  brother 
to  whose  advancement  I  had  so  largely  contributed  ?  Good 
heavens !  How  much  may  be  learned  from  the  simplest  tale  ! 

When  Madeleine  had  disappeared  into  the  house  I  came 
away  heart-broken,  took  leave  of  my  hospitable  friends,  and 
set  out  for  Paris  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Indre — the  road 
by  which  I  had  come  down  the  valley  for  the  first  time.  I 
was  sad^enough  as  I  rode  through  the  village  of  Pont  du  Ruan. 
And  yet  I  was  now  rich  ;  political  life  smiled  upon  me  ;  I  was 
no  longer  the  weary  wayfarer  of  eighteen  hundred  and  four- 
teen. Then  my  heart  had  been  full  of  desires,  now  my  eyes 
were  full  of  tears ;  then  I  had  to  fill  up  my  life,  now  I  felt  it  a 
desert.  I  was  still  quite  young — twenty-nine — and  my  heart 
was  crushed.  A  few  years  had  been  enough  to  rob  the  land- 
scape of  its  pristine  glory  and  to  disgust  me  with  life.  You 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  297 

may  conceive  then  of  my  emotion  when,  on  looking  back,  I 
discerned  Madeleine  on  the  terrace. 

Wholly  possessed  by  absorbing  sorrow,  I  never  thought  of 
the  end  of  my  journey.  Lady  Dudley  was  far  from  my  mind 
when  I  found  that  I  had  unconsciously  entered  her  courtyard. 
The  blunder  once  made,  I  could  but  act  it  out. 

My  habits  in  the  house  were  quite  marital ;  I  went  upstairs, 
gloomy  in  anticipation  of  a  vexatious  rupture.  If  you  have 
ever  understood  the  character  of  Lady  Dudley  you  can  imag- 
ine how  disconcerted  I  felt  when  her  butler  showed  me,  as  I 
was,  in  traveling  dress,  into  a  drawing-room  where  she  sat 
splendidly  dressed  with  a  party  of  five  visitors.  Lord  Dudley, 
one  of  the  most  noteworthy  of  English  statesmen,  was  stand- 
ing in  front  of  the  fire — elderly,  starch,  arrogant,  cold,  with 
the  satirical  expression  he  must  wear  in  the  House ;  he 
smiled  on  hearing  my  name.  With  their  mother  were  Ara- 
bella's two  boys,  astonishingly  like  de  Marsay,  one  of  the 
nobleman's  natural  sons,  who  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  by  the 
Marchioness. 

Arabella,  as  soon  as  she  saw  me,  assumed  a  lofty  air,  and 
stared  at  my  traveling  cap  as  if  she  were  on  the  point  of  in- 
quiring what  had  brought  me  to  see  her.  She  looked  at  me 
from  head  to  foot,  as  she  might  have  done  at  some  country 
'squire  just  introduced  to  her.  As  to  our  intimacy,  our 
eternal  passion,  her  vows  that  she  must  die  if  ever  I  ceased  to 
love  her — all  the  phantasmagoria  of  Armida — it  had  vanished 
like  a  dream.  I  had  never  held  her  hand,  I  was  a  stranger, 
she  did  not  know  me  ! 

I  was  startled,  in  spite  of  the  diplomatic  coolness  I  was 
beginning  to  acquire  ;  and  any  man  in  my  place  would  have 
been  no  less  so.  De  Marsay  smiled  as  he  looked  at  his  boots, 
examining  them  with  obvious  significance. 

I  made  up  my  mind  at  once.  From  any  other  woman  I 
would  have  submissively  accepted  my  discomfiture ;  but  en- 
raged at  finding  this  heroine,  who  was  to  die  of  love,  alive 


298  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

and  well,  after  laughing  to  scorn  the  woman  who  had  died,  I 
determined  to  meet  insolence  with  insolence.  She  knew  of 
Lady  Brandon's  wreck ;  to  remind  her  of  it  would  be  to  stab 
her  to  the  heart,  even  if  it  should  turn  the  edge  of  the  dagger. 

"Madame,"  said  I,  "you  will  forgive  me  for  coming  to 
you  in  so  cavalier  a  manner  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  this  in- 
stant arrived  from  Touraine,  and  that  Lady  Brandon  gave  me 
a  message  for  you  which  allows  of  no  delay.  I  feared  I  might 
find  that  %you  had  started  for  Lancashire ;  but  since  you  are 
not  leaving  Paris,  I  await  your  orders  at  the  hour  when  you 
will  condescend  to  receive  me." 

She  bowed  and  I  left  the  room. 

From  that  day  I  have  never  seen  her  excepting  in  company, 
where  we  exchange  friendly  bows,  with  sometimes  a  repartee. 
I  rally  her  about  the  inconsolable  women  of  Lancashire,  and 
she  retorts  about  the  Frenchwomen  who  do  credit  to  their 
broken  hearts  by  attacks  of  dyspepsia.  Thanks  to  her  good 
offices  I  have  a  mortal  foe  in  de  Marsay,  whom  she  makes 
much  of;  and  I,  in  return,  say  she  has  married  father  and  son. 

Thus  my  disaster  was  complete. 

I  took  up  the  plan  of  life  I  had  decided  on  during  my 
retirement  at  Sache.  I  threw  myself  into  hard  work  ;  I  took 
up  science,  literature,  and  politics.  On  the  accession  of 
Charles  X.,  who  abolished  the  post  I  had  filled  under  the  late 
King,  I  made  diplomacy  my  career.  From  that  hour  I  vowed 
never  to  pay  any  attention  to  a  woman,  however  beautiful, 
witty,  or  affectionate  she  might  be.  This  conduct  was  a  won- 
derful success.  I  gained  incredible  peace  of  mind,  great 
powers  of  work,  and  I  learned  that  women  waste  men's  lives 
and  think  they  have  indemnified  them  by  a  few  gracious 
words. 

However,  all  my  fine  resolutions  have  come  to  nothing — 
you  know  how  and  why. 

Dearest  Natalie,  in  relating  my  whole  life  without  reserve 
or  concealment,  as  I  should  to  myself,  in  confessing  to  you 


THE  LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY.  299 

feelings  in  which  you  had  no  part,  I  may  perhaps  have  vexed 
some  tender  spot  of  your  jealous  and  sensitive  heart.  But 
what  would  infuriate  a  vulgar  woman  will  be,  to  you,  I  am 
sure,  a  fresh  reason  for  loving  me.  The  noblest  women  have 
a  sublime  part  to  play  toward  suffering  and  aching  souls,  that 
of  a  sister  of  mercy  who  dresses  their  wounds,  of  the  mother 
who  forgives  her  children.  Nor  are  artists  and  poets  the  only 
sufferers.  Men  who  live  for  their  country,  for  the  future  of 
nations,  as  they  widen  the  circle  of  their  passions  and  their 
thoughts,  often  find  themselves  in  cruel  solitude.  They  long 
to  feel  that  by  their  side  is  some  pure  and  devoted  love. 
Believe  me,  they  will  know  its  greatness  and  its  value. 

To-morrow  I  shall  know  whether  I  have  made  a  mistake  in 
loving  you. 

To  Monsieur  le  Comic  Felix  de  Vandenesse. 

"  Dear  Count,  you  received  as  you  tell  me,  a  letter  from 
poor  Madame  de  Mortsauf  which  has  been  of  some  use  in 
guiding  you  through  the  world,  a  letter  to  which  you  owe 
your  high  fortunes.  Allow  me  to  finish  your  education. 

"  I  implore  you  to  divest  yourself  of  an  odious  habit.  Do 
not  imitate  certain  widows  who  are  always  talking  of  their 
first  husband  and  throwing  the  virtues  of  the  dear  departed 
in  the  teeth  of  the  second.  I,  dear  Count,  am  a  French- 
woman ;  I  should  wish  to  marry  the  whole  of  the  man  I 
loved ;  now  I  really  cannot  marry  Madame  de  Mortsauf. 

"  After  reading  your  narrative  with  the  attention  it  de- 
serves— and  you  know  what  interest  I  feel  in  you — it  strikes 
me  that  you  must  have  bored  Lady  Dudley  very  considerably 
by  holding  up  to  her  Madame  de  Mortsauf  s  perfections,  while 
deeply  wounding  the  Countess  by  expatiating  on  the  various 
resources  of  English  love-making.  You  have  now  failed  in 
tact  toward  me,  a  poor  creature  who  can  boast  of  no  merit 
but  that  of  having  attracted  your  liking ;  you  have  implied 


300  THE   LILY  OF   THE    VALLEY. 

that  I  do  not  love  you  as  much  as  either  Henriette  or  Arabella. 
I  confess  my  deficiencies.  I  know  them  ;  but  why  make  me 
feel  them  so  cruelly  ? 

"Shall  I  tell  you  whom  I  pity?  The  fourth  woman  you 
may  love.  She  will  inevitably  be  required  to  hold  her  own 
against  three  predecessors ;  so,  in  your  interest  as  much  as  in 
hers,  I  must  warn  you  against  the  perils  of  your  memory. 

"  I  renounce  the  laborious  honor  of  loving  you.  I  should 
require  too  many  catholic  or  anglican  virtues,  and  I  have  no 
taste  for  fighting  ghosts.  The  virtues  of  the  Virgin  of  Clo- 
chegourde  would  reduce  the  most  self-confident  woman  to 
despair ;  and  your  dashing  horsewoman  discourages  the  boldest 
dreams  of  happiness.  Do  what  she  may,  no  woman  can  hope 
to  give  you  satisfaction  in  proportion  to  her  ambition. 
Neither  heart  nor  senses  can  ever  triumph  over  your  reminis- 
cences. You  have  forgotten  that  we  often  ride  out  together. 
I  have  not  succeeded  in  warming  up  the  sun  that  was  chilled 
by  your  Henriette' s  decease ;  you  would  shiver  by  my  side. 

"  My  friend — for  you  will  always  be  my  friend — beware  of 
repeating  these  confidences  which  strip  your  disenchantment 
bare,  dishearten  love,  and  compel  a  woman  to  doubt  her 
powers.  Love,  my  dear  friend,  lives  on  mutual  trustfulness. 
The  woman  who,  before  she  says  a  word  or  mounts  her  horse, 
stops  to  ask  herself  whether  a  heavenly  Henriette  did  not 
speak  better,  or  a  horsewoman  like  Arabella  did  not  display 
more  grace,  that  woman,  take  my  word  for  it,  will  have  a 
trembling  tongue  and  knees. 

"  You  made  me  wish  that  I  might  receive  some  of  your  in- 
toxicating nosegays — but  you  say  you  will  make  no  more. 
Thus  it  is  with  a  hundred  things  you  no  longer  dare  do,  with 
thoughts  and  enjoyments  which  can  never  again  be  yours. 
No  woman,  be  very  sure,  would  choose  to  dwell  in  your  heart 
elbowing  the  corpse  you  cherish  there. 

"You  beseech  me  to  love  you  out  of  Christian  charity.  I 
could,  I  own,  do  much  out  of  charity — everything  but  love. 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  301 

"  You  are  sometimes  dull  and  tiresome ;  you  dignify  your 
gloom  by  the  name  of  melancholy,  well  and  good ;  but  it  is 
intolerable  and  fills  the  woman  who  loves  you  with  cruel 
anxieties.  I  have  come  across  that  saint's  tomb  too  often 
standing  between  us ;  I  have  reflected,  and  I  have  concluded 
that  I  have  no  wish  to  die  like  her.  If  you  exasperated  Lady 
Dudley,  a  woman  of  the  first  distinction,  I,  who  have  not  her 
furious  passions,  fear  I  should  even  sooner  grow  cold. 

"  Put  love  out  of  the  question  as  between  you  and  me, 
since  you  no  longer  find  happiness  but  with  the  dead,  and  let 
us  be  friends  ;  I  am  willing. 

"Why,  my  dear  Count,  you  began  by  loving  an  adorable 
woman,  a  perfect  mistress,  who  undertook  to  make  your  for- 
tune, who  procured  you  a  peerage,  who  loved  you  to  distrac- 
tion— and  you  made  her  die  of  grief !  Why,  nothing  can  be 
more  monstrous.  Among  the  most  ardent  and  the  most  luck- 
less youths  who  drag  their  ambitions  over  the  pavements  of 
Paris,  is  there  one  who  would  not  have  behaved  himself  for 
ten  years  to  obtain  half  the  favors  which  you  failed  to  recog- 
nize? When  a  man  is  so  beloved,  what  more  does  he  want? 

"  Poor  woman  !  she  suffered  much  ;  and  you,  when  you 
have  made  a  few  sentimental  speeches,  think  you  have  paid 
your  debt  over  her  bier.  This,  no  doubt,  is  the  prize  that 
awaits  my  affection  for  you.  Thank  you,  dear  Count,  but  I 
desire  no  rival  on  either  side  of  the  grave. 

"When  a  man  has  such  a  crime  on  his  conscience,  the 
least  he  can  do  is  not  to  tell  ! 

"I  asked  you  a  foolish  question;  it  was  in  my  part  as  a 
woman,  a  daughter  of  Eve.  It  was  your  part  to  calculate  the 
results  of  the  answer.  You  ought  to  have  deceived  me;  I 
should  have  thanked  you  for  it  later.  Have  you  understood 
wherein  lies  the  merit  of  men  who  are  liked  by  women  ?  Do 
you  not  perceive  how  magnanimous  they  are  when  they  swear 
that  they  have  never  loved  before,  that  this  is  their  first  love  ? 
Your  programme  is  impossible.  Lady  Dudley  and  Madame 


302  THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY. 

de  Mortsauf  in  one !  Why,  my  dear  friend,  you  might  as 
well  try  to  combine  fire  and  water.  Do  you  know  nothing  of 
women  ?  They  are  as  they  are ;  they  must  have  the  defects 
of  their  qualities. 

"You  met  Lady  Dudley  too  soon  to  appreciate  her,  and 
the  evil  you  say  of  her  seems  to  me  the  revenge  of  your 
wounded  vanity;  you  understood  Madame  de  Mortsauf  too 
late*;  you  punished  each  for  not  being  the  other ;  what  then 
would  become  of  me,  being  neither  one  nor  the  other? 

"  I  like  you  well  enough  to  have  reflected  very  seriously  on 
your  future  prospects.  Your  look,  as  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Rueful  Countenance,  has  always  interested  me  (and  I  believe 
in  the  constancy  of  melancholy  men),  but  I  did  not  know  that 
you  had  begun  your  career  in  the  world  by  killing  the  loveliest 
and  most  virtuous  of  women.  Well,  I  have  been  considering 
what  remains  for  you  to  do ;  I  have  thought  it  out.  I  think 
you  had  better  marry  some  Mrs.  Shandy,  who  will  know 
nothing  of  love  or  passion,  who  will  never  trouble  her  head 
about  Lady  Dudley  or  Madame  de  Mortsauf,  nor  about  those 
spells  of  dullness  which  you  call  melancholy — when  you  are 
as  amusing  as  a  rainy  day — and  who  will  be  the  worthy  sister 
of  charity  you  long  for. 

"As  to  love — thrilling  at  a  word,  knowing  how  to  wait  for 
happiness,  how  to  give  and  take  it,  feeling  the  myriad  storms 
of  passion,  making  common  cause  with  the  little  vanities  of 
the  woman  you  love — my  dear  Count,  give  it  up.  You  have 
followed  the  advice  of  your  good  angel  too  exactly ;  you  have 
avoided  young  women  so  effectually  that  you  know  nothing 
about  them.  Madame  de  Mortsauf  was  wise  in  getting  you 
to  a  front  place  at  once ;  every  woman  would  have  been 
against  you  and  you  would  never  have  reached  one.  It  is  too 
late  now  to  begin  your  training,  to  learn  to  say  the  things  we 
like  to  hear,  to  be  noble  at  appropriate  moments,  to  worship 
our  triviality  when  we  have  a  fancy  to  be  trivial.  We  are  not 
such  simpletons  as  you  think  us.  When  we  love,  we  set  the 


THE  LILY  OF  THE    VALLEY.  303 

man  of  our  choice  above  all  else.  Anything  that  shakes  our 
faith  in  our  own  supremacy  shakes  our  love.  By  flattering  us, 
you  flatter  yourselves. 

"  If  you  want  to  live  in  the  world  and  mingle  on  equal 
terms  with  women,  conceal  with  care  all  you  have  told  me ; 
they  do  not  care  to  strew  the  flowers  of  their  affections  on 
stones  or  lavish  their  tender  caresses  to  heal  a  wounded  heart. 
Every  woman  will  at  once  discern  the  shallowness  of  your 
heart  and  you  will  be  constantly  more  unhappy.  Very  few 
will  be  frank  enough  to  tell  you  what  I  have  told  you,  or 
good-natured  enough  to  dismiss  you  without  rancor  and  offer 
you  their  friendship,  as  she  now  does  who  still  remains  your 
sincere  friend. 

"  NATALIE  DE  MANERVILLE." 

PARIS,  October,  1835. 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

(L?  Autre  Etude  de  Femme.} 

Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 
\ 

To  Leon  Gozlan  as  a  Token  of  Literary  Good-fellowship. 

AT  Paris  there  are  almost  always  two  separate  parties  going 
on  at  every  ball  and  rout.  First,  an  official  party,  composed 
of  the  persons  invited,  a  fashionable  and  much-bored  circle. 
Each  one  grimaces  for  his  neighbor's  eye ;  most  of  the 
younger  women  are  there  for  one  person  only ;  when  each 
woman  has  assured  herself  that  for  that  one  she  is  the  hand- 
somest woman  in  the  room,  and  that  the  opinion  is  perhaps 
shared  by  a  few  others,  a  few  insignificant  phrases  are  ex- 
changed, such  as  :  "  Do  you  think  of  going  away  soon  to  La 
Crampade  ?  "  "  How  well  Madame  de  Portenduere  sang  !  " 
"  Who  is  the  little  woman  with  such  a  load  of  diamonds?" 
Or,  after  firing  off  some  smart  epigrams,  which  give  transient 
pleasure  and  leave  wounds  that  rankle  long,  the  groups  thin 
out,  the  mere  lookers-on  go  away,  and  the  wax-lights  burn 
down  to  the  sconces. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  then  waylays  a  few  artists,  amus- 
ing people  or  intimate  friends,  saying,  "  Do  not  go  yet ;  we 
will  have  a  snug  little  supper."  These  collect  in  some  small, 
cozy  room.  The  second,  the  real  party,  now  begins;  a  party 
where,  as  of  old,  every  one  can  hear  what  is  said,  conversation 
is  general,  each  one  is  bound  to  be  witty,  and  to  contribute 
to  the  amusement  of  all.  Everything  is  made  to  tell,  honest 
laughter  takes  the  place  of  the  gloom  which  in  company 
saddens  the  prettiest  faces.  In  short,  where  the  rout  ends 
pleasure  begins. 
(304) 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WO  MAX.  305 

The  rout,  a  cold  display  of  luxury,  a  review  of  self- 
conceits  in  full  dress,  is  one  of  those  English  inventions 
which  tend  to  mechanize  other  nations.  England  seems  bent 
on  seeing  the  whole  world  as  dull  as  itself — and  dull  in  the 
same  way.  So  this  second  party  is,  in  some  French  houses,  a 
happy  protest  on  the  part  of  the  old  spirit  of  our  light-hearted 
people.  Only,  unfortunately,  so  few  houses  protest ;  and  the 
reason  is  a  simple  one.  If  we  no  longer  have  many  suppers 
nowadays,  it  is  because  never,  under  any  rule,  have  there  been 
fewer  men  placed,  established,  and  successful  than  under  the 
reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  when  the  revolution  began  again, 
lawfully.  Everybody  is  on  the  march  some  whither,  or  trot- 
ting at  the  heels  of  Fortune.  Time  has  become  the  costliest 
commodity,  so  no  one  can  afford  the  lavish  extravagance  of 
going  home  to-morrow  morning  and  getting  up  late.  Hence, 
there  is  no  second  soiree  now  but  at  the  houses  of  women  rich 
enough  to  entertain,  and  since  July,  1830,  such  women  may 
be  counted  in  Paris. 

In  spite  of  the  covert  opposition  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain,  two  or  three  women,  among  them  Madame  d'Espard 
and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  have  not  chosen  to  give  up 
the  share  of  influence  they  exercised  in  Paris  and  have  not 
closed  their  houses. 

The  salon  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is  noted  in  Paris  as 
being  the  last  refuge  where  the  old  French  wit  has  found  a 
home,  with  its  reserved  depths,  its  myriad  subtle  byways,  and 
its  exquisite  politeness.  You  will  there  still  find  grace  of 
manner  notwithstanding  the  conventionalities  of  courtesy, 
perfect  freedom  of  talk  notwithstanding  the  reserve  which  is 
natural  to  persons  of  breeding,  and,  above  all,  a  liberal  flow 
of  ideas.  No  one  there  thinks  of  keeping  his  thought  for  a 
play  ;  and  no  one  regards  a  story  as  material  for  a  book.  In 
short,  the  hideous  skeleton  of  literature  at  bay  never  stalks 
there  on  the  prowl  for  a  clever  sally  or  an  interesting  subject. 

The  memory  of  one  of  these  evenings  especially  dwells 
20 


306  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

with  me,  less  by  reason  of  a  confidence  in  which  the  illus- 
trious de  Marsay  opened  up  one  of  the  deepest  recesses  of 
woman's  heart,  than  on  account  of  the  reflections  to  which 
his  narrative  gave  rise,  as  to  the  changes  that  have  taken 
place  in  the  Frenchwoman  since  the  fateful  revolution  of 
July. 

On  that  evening  chance  had  brought  together  several  per- 
s'ons  whose  indisputable  merits  have  won  them  European  repu- 
tations. This  is  not  a  piece  of  flattery  addressed  to  France, 
for  there  were  a  good  many  foreigners  present.  And,  indeed, 
the  men  who  most  shone  were  not  the  most  famous.  Ingeni- 
ous repartee,  acute  remarks,  admirable  banter,  pictures 
sketched  with  brilliant  precision,  all  sparkled  and  flowed 
without  elaboration,  were  poured  out  without  disdain,  but 
without  effort,  and  were  exquisitely  expressed  and  delicately 
appreciated.  The  men  of  the  world  especially  were  conspicu- 
ous for  their  really  artistic  grace  and  spirit. 

Elsewhere  in  Europe  you  will  find  elegant  manners,  cordi- 
ality, genial  fellowship,  and  knowledge  ;  but  only  in  Paris,  in 
this  drawing-room,  and  those  to  which  I  have  alluded,  does 
the  particular  wit  abound  which  gives  an  agreeable  and 
changeful  unity  to  all  these  social  qualities,  an  indescribable 
river-like  flow  which  makes  this  profusion  of  ideas,  of  defi- 
nitions, of  anecdotes,  of  historical  incidents,  meander  with 
ease.  Paris,  the  capital  of  taste,  alone  possesses  the  science 
which  makes  conversation  a  tourney  in  which  each  type  of 
wit  is  condensed  into  a  shaft,  each  speaker  utters  his  phrase 
and  casts  his  experience  in  a  word,  in  which  every  one  finds 
amusement,  relaxation,  and  exercise.  Here,  then,  alone,  will 
you  exchange  ideas  ;  here  you  need  not,  like  the  dolphin  in 
the  fable,  carry  a  monkey  on  your  shoulders ;  here  you  will 
be  understood,  and  will  not  risk  staking  your  gold-pieces 
against  base  metal. 

Here,  again,  secrets  neatly  betrayed,  and  talk,  light  or 
deep,  play  and  eddy,  changing  their  aspect  and  hue  at  every 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  307 

phrase.  Eager  criticism  and  crisp  anecdotes  lead  on  from  one 
to  the  next.  All  eyes  are  listening,  a  gesture  asks  a  question, 
and  an  expressive  look  gives  the  answer.  In  short,  and  in  a 
word,  everything  is  wit  and  mind. 

The  phenomenon  of  speech,  which,  when  duly  studied  and 
well  handled,  is  the  power  of  the  actor  and  the  story-teller, 
had  never  so  completely  bewitched  me.  Nor  was  I  alone 
under  the  influence  of  its  spell ;  we  all  spent  a  delightful 
evening.  The  conversation  had  drifted  into  anecdote,  and 
brought  out  in  its  rushing  course  some  curious  confessions, 
several  portraits,  and  a  thousand  follies,  which  make  this 
enchanting  improvisation  impossible  to  record  ;  still,  by  set- 
ting these  things  down  in  all  their  natural  freshness  and 
abruptness,  their  elusive  divarications,  you  may  perhaps  feel 
the  charm  of  a  real  French  evening,  taken  at  the  moment 
when  the  most  engaging  familiarity  makes  each  one  forget  his 
own  interests,  his  personal  conceit,  or,  if  you  like,  his  pre- 
tensions. 

At  about  two  in  the  morning,  as  supper  ended,  no  one  was 
left  sitting  around  the  table  but  intimate  friends,  proved  by 
an  intercourse  of  fifteen  years,  and  some  persons  of  great 
taste  and  good  breeding,  who  knew  the  world.  By  tacit 
agreement,  perfectly  carried  out,  at  supper  every  one  renounced 
his  pretensions  to  importance.  Perfect  equality  set  the  tone. 
But  indeed  there  was  no  one  present  who  was  not  very  proud 
of  being  himself. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  always  insists  on  her  guests  re- 
maining at  table  until  they  leave,  having  frequently  remarked 
the  change  which  a  move  produces  in  the  spirit  of  a  party. 
Between  the  dining-room  and  the  drawing-room  the  charm  is 
destroyed.  According  to  Sterne,  the  ideas  of  an  author  after 
shaving  are  different  from  those  he  had  before.  If  Sterne  is 
right,  may  it  not  be  boldly  asserted  that  the  frame  of  mind 
of  a  party  at  table  is  not  the  same  as  that  of  the  same  persons 
returned  to  the  drawing-room  ?  The  new  atmosphere  is  not 


308  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

heady,  the  eye  no  longer  contemplates  the  brilliant  disorder 
of  the  dessert,  lost  are  the  happy  effects  of  that  laxness.  of 
mood,  that  benevolence  which  comes  over  us  while  we  remain 
in  the  humor  peculiar  to  the  well-filled  man,  settled  comfort- 
ably on  one  of  the  springy  chairs  which  are  made  in  these 
days.  ^Perhaps  we  are  more  ready  to  talk  face  to  face  with 
the  dessert  and  in  the  society  of  good  wine,  during  the  de- 
lightful interval  when  every  one  may  sit  with  an  elbow  on 
the  table  and  his  head  resting  on  his  hand.  Not  only  does 
every  one  like  to  talk  then,  but  also  to  listen.  Digestion, 
which  is  almost  always  attent,  is  loquacious  or  silent,  as 
the  various  characters  differ.  Then  every  one  finds  his  oppor- 
tunity. 

Was  not  this  preamble  necessary  to  make  you  know  the 
charm  of  the  narrative,  by  which  a  celebrated  man,  now 
dead,  depicted  the  innocent  Jesuitry  of  woman,  painting  it 
with  the  subtlety  peculiar  to  persons  who  have  seen  much  of 
the  world,  and  which  makes  statesmen  such  delightful  story- 
tellers when,  like  Prince  Talleyrand  and  Prince  Metternich, 
they  vouchsafe  to  tell  a  story  ? 

De  Marsay,  prime  minister  for  some  six  months,  had  already 
given  proofs  of  superior  capabilities.  Those  who  had  known 
him  long  were  not  indeed  surprised  to  see  him  display  all  the 
talents  and  various  aptitudes  of  a  statesman  ;  still  it  might  yet 
be  a  question  whether  he  would  prove  to  be  a  solid  politi- 
cian, or  had  merely  been  moulded  in  the  fire  of  circumstance. 
This  question  had  just  been  asked  by  a  man  whom  he  had 
made  preTet,  a  man  of  wit  and  observation,  who  had  for  a 
long  time  been  a  journalist,  and  who  admired  de  Marsay 
without  infusing  into  his  admiration,  that  dash  of  acrid  criti- 
cism by  which,  in  Paris,  one  superior  man  excuses  himself 
from  admiring  another. 

"  Was  there  ever,"  said  he,  "  in  your  former  life,  any  event, 
any  thought  or  wish  which  told  you  what  your  vocation  was?" 
asked  Emile  Blondet ;  "for  we  all,  like  Newton,  have  our 


ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  309 

apple,  which  falls  and  leads  us  to  the  spot  where  our  faculties 
develop " 

"  Yes,"  said  de  Marsay ;  "  I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

Pretty  women,  political  dandies,  artists,  old  men,  de  Mar- 
say's  intimate  friends — all  settled  themselves  comfortably, 
each  in  his  favorite  attitude,  to  look  at  the  minister.  Need 
it  be  said  that  the  servants  had  left,  that  the  doors  were  shut, 
and  the  curtains  drawn  over  them  ?  The  silence  was  so  com- 
plete that  the  murmurs  of  the  coachmen's  voices  could  be 
heard  from  the  courtyard,  and  the  pawing  and  champing 
made  by  horses  when  asking  to  be  taken  back  to  their  stable. 

"The  statesman,  my  friends,  exists  by  one  single  quality," 
said  the  minister,  playing  with  his  gold  and  mother-of-pearl 
dessert  knife.  "To  wit:  the  power  of  always  being  master 
of  himself ;  of  profiting  more  or  less,  under  all  circumstances, 
by  every  event,  however  fortuitous ;  in  short,  of  having  within 
himself  a  cold  and  disinterested  other  self,  who  looks  on  as  a 
spectator  at  all  the  chances  of  life,  noting  our  passions  and  our 
sentiments,  and  whispering  to  us  in  every  case  the  judgment 
of  a  sort  of  moral  ready- reckoner." 

"  That  explains  why  a  statesman  is  so  rare  a  thing  in 
France,"  said  old  Lord  Dudley. 

"  From  a  sentimental  point  of  view,  this  is  horrible,"  the 
minister  went  on.  "  Hence,  when  such  a  phenomenon  is 
seen  in  a  young  man — Richelieu,  who,  when  warned  overnight 
by  a  letter  of  Concini's  peril,  slept  till  midday,  when  his 
benefactor  was  to  be  killed  at  ten  o'clock — or  say  Pitt,  or 
Napoleon — he  is  a  monster.  I  became  such  a  monster  at  a 
very  early  age,  thanks  to  a  woman." 

"I  fancied,"  said  Madame  de  Montcornet  with  a  smile, 
"  that  more  politicians  were  undone  by  us  than  we  could 
make." 

"The  monster  of  which  I  speak  is  a  monster  just  because 
he  withstands  you,"  replied  de  Marsay,  with  a  little  ironical 
bow. 


310  ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

"  If  this  is  a  love  story,"  the  Baronne  de  Nucingen  inter- 
posed, "  I  request  that  it  may  not  be  interrupted  by  any  re- 
flections." 

"Reflection  is  so  antipathetic  to  it !  "  cried  Joseph  Bridau. 

"  I  was  seventeen,"  de  Marsay  went  on  ;  "  the  restoration 
was  being  consolidated  ;  my  old  friends  know  how  impetuous 
and  fervid  I  was  then.  I  was  in  love  for  the  first  time,  and  I 
was — I  may  say  so  now — one  of  the  handsomest  young  fellows 
in  Paris.  I  had  youth  and  good  looks,  two  advantages  due 
to  good  fortune,  but  of  which  we  are  all  as  proud  as  of  a 
conquest.  I  must  be  silent  as  to  the  rest.  Like  all  youths,  I 
was  in  love  with  a  woman  six  years  older  than  myself.  No 
one  of  you  here,"  said  he,  looking  carefully  round  the  table, 
"  can  suspect  her  name  or  recognize  her.  Ronquerolles  alone, 
at  the  time,  ever  guessed  my  secret.  He  has  kept  it  well,  but 
I  should  have  feared  his  smile.  However,  he  is  gone,"  said 
the  minister,  looking  around. 

"  He  would  not  stay  to  supper,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"For  six  months,  possessed  by  my  passion,"  de  Marsay 
went  on,  "  but  incapable  of  suspecting  that  it  had  overmas- 
tered me,  I  had  abandoned  myself  to  that  rapturous  idolatry 
which  is  at  once  the  triumph  and  the  frail  joy  of  the  young. 
I  treasured  her  old  gloves  ;  I  drank  an  infusion  of  the  flowers 
she  had  worn  ;  I  got  out  of  bed  at  night  to  go  and  gaze  at 
her  window.  All  my  blood  rushed  to  my  heart  when  I  in- 
haled the  perfume  she  used.  I  was  miles  away  from  knowing 
that  woman  is  a  stove  with  a  marble  casing." 

"  Oh  !  spare  us  your  terrible  verdicts,"  cried  Madame  de 
Montcornet  with  a  smile. 

"I  believe  I  should  have  crushed  with  my  scorn  the  phi- 
losopher who  first  uttered  this  terrible  but  profoundly  true 
thought,"  said  de  Marsay.  "You  are  all  far  too  keen-sighted 
for  me  to  say  any  more  on  that  point.  These  few  words  will 
remind  you  of  your  own  follies. 

"A  great  lady,  if  ever  there  was  one;  a  widow  without 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  311 

children — oh  !  all  was  perfect — my  idol  would  shut  herself  up 
to  mark  my  linen  with  her  hair ;  in  short,  she  responded  to 
my  madness  by  her  own.  And  how  can  we  fail  to  believe  in 
passion  when  it  has  the  guarantee  of  madness? 

"We  each  devoted  all  our  minds  to  concealing  a  love  so 
perfect  and  so  beautiful  from  the  eyes  of  the  world ;  and  we 
succeeded.  And  what  charm  we  found  in  our  escapades ! 
Of  her  I  will  say  nothing.  She  was  perfection  then,  and  to 
this  day  is  considered  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  in 
Paris ;  but  at  that  time  a  man  would  have  endured  death  to 
win  one  of  her  glances.  She  had  been  left  with  an  amount 
of  fortune  sufficient  for  a  woman  who  loved  and  was  adored  ; 
but  the  restoration,  to  which  she  owed  renewed  lustre,  made 
it  seem  inadequate  in  comparison  with  her  name.  In  my 
position  I  was  so  fatuous  as  never  to  dream  of  a  suspicion. 
Though  my  jealousy  would  have  been  of  a  hundred  and 
twenty  Othello-power,  that  terrible  passion  slumbered  in  me 
as  gold  in  the  nugget.  I  would  have  ordered  my  servant  to 
thrash  me  if  I  had  been  so  base  as  ever  to  doubt  the  purity  of 
that  angel — so  fragile  and  so  strong,  so  fair,  so  artless,  pure, 
spotless,  and  whose  blue  eye  allowed  my  gaze  to  sound  it  to  the 
very  depths  of  her  heart  with  adorable  submissiveness.  Never 
was  there  the  slightest  hesitancy  in  her  attitude,  her  look,  or 
word ;  always  white  and  fresh  and  ready  for  the  Beloved  like 
the  Oriental  Lily  of  the  '  Song  of  Songs  ! '  Ah  !  my  friends  !" 
sadly  exclaimed  the  minister,  grown  young  again,  "a.  man 
must  hit  his  head  very  hard  on  the  marble  to  dispel  that 
poem  !  " 

This  cry  of  nature,  finding  an  echo  in  the  listeners,  spurred 
the  curiosity  he  had  excited  in  them  with  so  much  skill. 

"  Every  morning,  riding  Sultan — the  fine  horse  you  sent 
me  from  England,"  de  Marsay  went  on,  addressing  Lord 
Dudley — "  I  rode  past  her  open  carriage,  the  horses'  pace 
being  intentionally  reduced  to  a  walk,  and  read  the  order  of 
the  day  signaled  to  me  by  the  flowers  of  her  bouquet  in  case 


312  ANOTHER  STUDY   OF   WOMAN. 

we  were  unable  to  exchange  a  few  words.  Though  we  saw 
each  other  almost  every  evening  in  society  and  she  wrote  to 
me  everyday,  to  deceive  the  curious  and  mislead  the  observant 
we  had  adopted  a  scheme  of  conduct :  never  to  look  at  each 
other ;  to  avoid  meeting ;  to  speak  ill  of  each  other.  Self- 
admiration,  swagger,  or  playing  the  disdained  swain — all 
these  old  manoeuvres  are  not  to  compare  on  either  part  with  a 
false  passion  professed  for  an  indifferent  person  and  an  air  of 
indifference  toward  the  true  idol.  If  two  lovers  will  only  play 
that  game  the  world  will  always  be  deceived  ;  but  then  they 
must  be  very  secure  of  each  other. 

"  Her  stalking-horse  was  a  man  in  high  favor,  a  courtier, 
cold  and  sanctimonious,  whom  she  never  received  at  her  own 
house.  This  little  comedy  was  performed  for  the  benefit  of 
simpletons  and  drawing-room  circles,  who  laughed  at  it. 
Marriage  was  never  spoken  of  between  us ;  six  years'  differ- 
ence of  age  might  give  her  pause  ;  she  knew  nothing  of  my 
fortune,  of  which,  on  principle,  I  have  always  kept  the  secret. 
I,  on  my  part,  fascinated  by  her  wit  and  manners,  by  the 
extent  of  her  knowledge  and  her  experience  of  the  world, 
would  have  married  her  without  a  thought.  At  the  same 
time,  her  reserve  charmed  me.  If  she  had  been  the  first  to 
speak  of  marriage  in  a  certain  tone,  I  might  perhaps  have 
noted  it  as  vulgar  in  that  accomplished  soul. 

"  Six  months,  full  and  perfect — a  diamond  of  the  purest 
water !  That  has  been  my  portion  of  love  in  this  base  world. 

"  One  morning,  attacked  by  the  feverish  stiffness  which 
marks  the  beginning  of  a  cold,  I  wrote  her  a  line  to  put  off 
one  of  these  secret  festivals  which  are  buried  under  the  roofs 
of  Paris  like  pearls  in  the  sea.  No  sooner  was  the  letter  sent 
than  remorse  seized  me :  she  will  not  believe  that  I  am  ill ! 
thought  I.  She  was  wont  to  affect  jealousy  and  suspicious- 
ness.  When  jealousy  is  genuine,"  said  de  Marsay,  interrupt- 
ing himself,  "it  is  the  visible  sign  of  a  unique  passion." 

"  Why?"  asked  the  Princess  de  Cadignan  eagerly. 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  313 

"  Unique  and  true  love,"  said  de  Marsay,  "  produces  a  sort 
of  corporeal  apathy  attuned  to  the  contemplation  into  which 
one  falls.  Then  the  mind  complicates  everything ;  it  works 
on  itself,  pictures  its  fancies,  turns  them  into  reality  and 
torment;  and  such  jealousy  is  as  delightful  as  it  is  dis- 
tressing." 

A  foreign  minister  smiled  as,  by  the  light  of  memory,  he 
felt  the  truth  of  this  remark. 

"Beside,"  de  Marsay  went  on,  "I  said  to  myself,  why 
miss  a  happy  hour  ?  Was  it  not  better  to  go,  even  though 
feverish  ?  And  then,  if  she  learns  that  I  am  ill,  I  believe  her 
capable  of  hurrying  here  and  compromising  herself.  I  made 
an  effort ;  I  wrote  a  second  letter  and  carried  it  myself,  for 
my  confidential  servant  was  now  gone.  The  river  lay  between 
us.  I  had  to  cross  Paris ;  but  at  last,  within  a  suitable  dis- 
tance of  her  house,  I  caught  sight  of  a  messenger ;  I  charged 
him  to  have  the  note  sent  up  to  her  at  once,  and  I  had  the 
happy  idea  of  driving  past  her  door  in  a  hackney  cab  to  see 
whether  she  might  not  by  chance  receive  the  two  letters  to- 
gether. At  the  moment  when  I  arrived  it  was  two  o'clock ; 
the  great  gate  opened  to  admit  a  carriage.  Whose  ?  That 
of  the  stalking-horse  ! 

"It  is  fifteen  years  since — well,  even  while  I  tell  the  tale, 
I,  the  exhausted  orator,  the  minister  dried  up  by  the  friction 
of  public  business,  I  still  feel  a  surging  in  my  heart  and  the 
hot  blood  about  my  diaphragm.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  I 
passed  once  more  ;  the  carriage  was  still  in  the  courtyard  ! 
My  note  no  doubt  was  in  the  porter's  hands.  At  last,  at  half- 
past  three,  the  carriage  drove  out.  I  could  observe  my 
rival's  expression  ;  he  was  grave,  and  did  not  smile ;  but  he 
was  in  love,  and  no  doubt  there  was  business  in  hand. 

"  I  went  to  keep  my  appointment ;  the  queen  of  my  heart 
met  me.  I  saw  her  calm,  pure,  serene.  And  here  I  must 
confess  that  I  have  always  thought  that  Othello  was  not  only 
stupid,  but  showed  very  bad  taste.  Only  a  man  who  is  half 


314  ANOTHER    STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

a  negro  could  behave  so  :  indeed  Shakespeare  felt  this  when 
he  called  his  play  'The  Moor  of  Venice.'  The  sight  of 
the  woman  we  love  is  such  a  balm  to  the  heart  that  it  must 
dispel  anguish,  doubt,  and  sorrow.  All  my  rage  vanished. 
I  could  smile  again.  Hence  this  cheerfulness,  which  at  my 
age  now  would  be  the  most  atrocious  dissimulation,  was  the  re- 
sult of  my  youth  and  my  love.  My  jealousy  once  buried,  I  had 
the  power  of  observation.  My  ailing  condition  was  evident ; 
the  horrible  doubts  that  had  fermented  in  me  increased  it. 
At  last  I  found  an  opening  for  putting  in  these  words :  '  You 
have  had  no  one  with  you  this  morning  ?  '  making  a  pretext 
of  the  uneasiness  I  had  felt  in  the  fear  lest  she  should  have 
disposed  of  her  time  after  receiving  my  first  note.  '  Ah  !  ' 
she  exclaimed,  '  only  a  man  could  have  such  ideas  !  As  if  I 
could  think  of  anything  but  your  suffering.  Till  the  moment 
when  I  received  your  second  note  I  could  think  only  of  how 
I  could  really  contrive  to  go  to  see  you. '  '  And  you  were 
alone?'  'Alone,'  said  she,  looking  at  me  with  a  face  of  in- 
nocence so  perfect  that  it  must  have  been  his  distrust  of  such 
a  look  as  that  which  made  the  Moor  kill  Desdemona.  As 
she  lived  alone  in  the  house,  the  word  was  a  fearful  lie.  One 
single  lie  destroys  the  absolute  confidence  which  to  some 
souls  is  the  very  foundation  of  happiness. 

"  To  explain  to  you  what  passed  in  me  at  that  moment  it 
must  be  assumed  that  we  have  an  internal  self  of  which  the 
exterior  /  is  but  the  husk;  that  this  self,  as  brilliant  as  light, 
is  as  fragile  as  a  shade — well,  that  beautiful  self  was  in  me 
thenceforth  for  ever  shrouded  in  crape.  Yes ;  I  felt  a  cold 
and  fleshless  hand  cast  over  me  the  winding-sheet  of  expe- 
rience, dooming  me  to  the  eternal  mourning  into  which  the 
first  betrayal  plunges  the  soul.  As  I  cast  my  eyes  down  that 
she  might  not  observe  my  dizziness,  this  proud  thought  some- 
what restored  my  strength :  '  If  she  is  deceiving  you  she  is 
unworthy  of  you  !  ' 

"  I  ascribed  my  sudden   reddening  and   the  tears  which 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  315 

started  to  my  eyes  to  an  attack  of  pain,  and  the  sweet  crea- 
ture insisted  on  driving  me  home  with  the  blinds  of  the  cab 
drawn.  On  the  way  she  was  full  of  a  solicitude  and  tender- 
ness that  might  have  deceived  the  Moor  of  Venice  whom  I 
have  taken  as  a  standard  of  comparison.  Indeed,  if  that 
great  child  were  to  hesitate  two  seconds  longer,  every  intelli- 
gent spectator  feels  that  he  would  ask  Desdemona's  forgive- 
ness. Thus,  killing  the  woman  is  the  act  of  a  boy.  She 
wept  as  we  parted,  so  much  was  she  distressed  at  being  unable 
to  nurse  me  herself.  She  wished  she  were  my  valet,  in  whose 
happiness  she  found  a  cause  of  envy,  and  all  this  was  as  ele- 
gantly expressed,  oh  !  as  Clarissa  might  have  written  in  her 
happiness.  There  is  always  a  precious  ape  in  the  prettiest  and 
most  angelic  woman  !  " 

At  these  words  all  the  women  looked  down  as  if  hurt  by 
this  brutal  truth  so  brutally  stated. 

"  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  night  nor  the  week  I  spent," 
de  Marsay  went  on.  "I  discovered  that  I  was  a  statesman." 

It  was  so  well  said  that  we  all  uttered  an  admiring  exclama- 
tion. 

"As  I  thought  over  the  really  cruel  vengeance  to  be  taken 
on  a  woman,"  said  de  Marsay,  continuing  his  story,  "with 
infernal  ingenuity — for,  as  we  had  loved  each  other,  some 
terrible  and  irreparable  revenges  were  possible — I  despised 
myself,  I  felt  how  common  I  was,  I  insensibly  formulated  a 
horrible  code — that  of  indulgence.  In  taking  vengeance  on 
a  woman,  do  we  not  in  fact  admit  that  there  is  but  one  for  us, 
that  we  cannot  do  without  her?  And,  then,  is  revenge  the 
way  to  win  her  back !  If  she  is  not  indispensable,  if  there 
are  other  women  in  the  world,  why  not  grant  her  the  right  to 
change  which  we  assume  ? 

"This,  of  course,  applies  only  to  passion;  in  any  other 
sense  it  would  be  socially  wrong.  Nothing  more  clearly 
proves  the  necessity  for  indissoluble  marriage  than  the  in- 
stability of  passion.  The  two  sexes  must  be  chained  up,  like 


316  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

wild  beasts  as  they  are,  by  inevitable  law,  deaf  and  mute. 
Eliminate  revenge  and  infidelity  in  love  is  nothing.  Those 
who  believe  that  for  them  there  is  but  one  woman  in  the  world 
must  be  in  favor  of  vengeance,  and  then  there  is  but  one  form 
of  it — that  of  Othello. 

"Mine  was  different." 

The  words  prpduced  in  each  of  us  the  imperceptible  move- 
ment which  newspaper  writers  represent  in  parliamentary  re- 
ports by  the  words  :  "  Great  sensation." 

"  Cured  of  my  cold,  and  of  my  pure,  absolute,  divine  love, 
I  flung  myself  into  an  adventure,  of  which  the  heroine  was 
charming  and  of  a  style  of  beauty  utterly  opposed  to  that  of 
my  deceiving  angel.  I  took  care  not  to  quarrel  with  this 
clever  woman  who  was  so  good  an  actress,  for  I  doubt  whether 
true  love  can  give  such  gracious  delights  as  those  lavished  by 
such  a  dexterous  fraud.  Such  refined  hypocrisy  is  as  good  as 
virtue.  I  am  not  speaking  to  you*  Englishwomen,  my  lady," 
said  the  minister  suavely,  addressing  Lady  Barimore,  Lord 
Dudley's  daughter.  "  I  tried  to  be  the  same  lover. 

"  I  wished  to  have  some  of  my  hair  worked  up  for  my  new 
angel  so  I  went  to  a  skilled  artist,  who  at  that  time  dwelt  in 
the  Rue  Boucher.  The  man  had  a  monopoly  of  capillary  keep- 
sakes, and  I  mention  his  address  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
have  not  much  hair  ;  he  has  plenty  of  every  kind  and  every 
color.  After  I  had  explained  my  order  he  showed  me 
his  work.  I  then  saw  achievements  of  patience  surpassing 
those  which  the  story  books  ascribe  to  fairies,  or  which  are 
executed  by  prisoners.  He  brought  me  up  to  date  as  to  the 
caprices  and  fashions  governing  the  use  of  hair.  '  For  the 
last  year,'  said  he,  'there  has  been  a  rage  for  marking  linen 
with  hair ;  happily  I  had  a  fine  collection  of  hair  and  skilled 
needlewomen.'  On  hearing  this  a  suspicion  flashed  upon  me; 
I  took  out  my  handkerchief  and  said,  '  So  this  was  done  in  your 
shop,  with  false  hair?'  He  looked  at  the  handkerchief,  and 
said,  '  Ay  !  that  lady  was  very  particular,  she  insisted  on  veri- 


WHEN  ARE  YOU  TO  MARRY  THE  DUKE?' 


ANOTHER   STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  317 

fying  the  tint  of  the  hair.  My  wife  herself  marked  those 
handkerchiefs.  You  have  there,  sir,  one  of  the  finest  pieces 
of  work  we  have  ever  executed.'  Before  this  last  ray  of  light  I 
might  have  believed  something — might  have  taken  a  woman's 
word.  I  left  the  store  still  having  faith  in  pleasure,  but  where 
love  was  concerned  I  was  as  atheistical  as  a  mathematician. 

"  Two  months  later  I  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  ethereal 
being  in  her  boudoir,  on  her  sofa ;  I  was  holding  one  of  her 
hands — they  were  very  beautiful — and  we  scaled  the  Alps  of 
sentiment,  culling  their  sweetest  flowers,  and  pulling  off  the 
daisy-petals  ;  there  is  always  a  moment  when  one  pulls  daisies 
to  pieces,  even  if  it  is  in  a  drawing-room  and  there  are  no 
daisies.  At  the  intensest  moment  of  tenderness  and  when  we 
are  most  in  love,  love  is  so  well  aware  of  its  own  short  dura- 
tion that  we  are  irresistibly  urged  to  ask,  '  Do  you  love  me? 
Will  you'  love  me  always  ?  '  I  seized  the  elegiac  moment,  so 
warm,  so  flowery,  so  full-blown,  to  lead  her  to  tell  her  most 
delightful  lies,  in  the  enchanting  language  of  rapturous  exag- 
geration and  high-flown  poetry  peculiar  to  love.  Charlotte 
displayed  her  choicest  allurements  :  She  could  not  live  with- 
out me ;  I  was  to  her  the  only  man  in  the  world  ;  she  feared 
to  weary  me,  because  my  presence  bereft  her  of  all  her  wits ; 
with  me  all  her  faculties  were  lost  in  love ;  she  was  indeed 
too  tender  to  escape  alarms ;  for  the  last  six  months  she  had 
been  seeking  some  way  to  bind  me  to  her  eternally,  and  God 
alone  knew  that  secret ;  in  short,  I  was  her  god  !  " 

The  women  who  heard  de  Marsay  seemed  offended  by 
seeing  themselves  so  well  acted,  for  he  seconded  the  words  by 
airs,  and  sidelong  attitudes,  and  mincing  grimaces  which 
were  quite  illusory. 

"At  the  very  moment  when  I  might  have  believed  these 
adorable  falsehoods,  as  I  still  held  her  right  hand  in  mine,  I 
said  to  her,  '  When  are  you  to  marry  the  Duke  ?  ' 

"The  thrust  was  so  direct,  my  gaze  met  hers  so  boldly, 
and  her  hand  lay  so  tightly  in  mine,  that  her  start,  slight  as 


318  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

it  was,  could  not  be  disguised  ;  her  eyes  fell  before  mine,  and 
a  faint  blush  colored  her  cheeks.  '  The  Duke !  What  do 
you  mean  ?  '  she  said,  affecting  great  astonishment.  '  I  know 
everything,'  I  replied  ;  '  and,  in  my  opinion,  you  should  delay 
no  longer ;  he  is  rich ;  he  is  a  duke ;  but  he  is  more  than  de- 
vout, he  is  religious !  I  am  sure,  therefore,  that  you  have 
been  faithful  to  me,  thanks  to  his  scruples.  You  cannot 
imagine  how  urgently  necessary  it  is  that  you  should  com- 
promise him  with  himself  and  with  God;  short  of  that  you 
will  never  bring  him  to  the  point.'  '  Is  this  a  dream  ? '  said 
she,  pushing  her  hair  from  her  forehead,  fifteen  years  before 
Malibran,  with  the  gesture  which  Malibran  has  made  so 
famous.  '  Come,  do  not  be  childish,  my  angel,'  I  said,  try- 
ing to  take  her  hands ;  but  she  folded  them  before  her  with  a 
little  prudish  and  indignant  mien.  '  Marry  him,  you  have 
my  permission,'  said  I,  replying  to  this  gesture  by  using 
the  formal  vous  (you)  instead  of  tu  (thou).  '  Nay,  better,  I 
beg  you  will  do  so.'  'But,'  cried  she,  falling  at  my  knees, 
'  there  is  some  horrible  mistake  ;  I  love  no  one  in  the  world 
but  you;  you  may  demand  any  proofs  you  please.'  'Rise, 
my  dear,'  said  I,  'and  do  me  the  honor  of  being  truthful.' 
'  As  before  God.'  '  Do  you  doubt  my  love? '  '  No.'  '  Nor 
my  fidelity?'  '  No.'  '  Well,  I  have  committed  the  greatest 
crime,'  I  went  on.  '  I  have  doubted  your  love  and  your 
fidelity.  Between  two  intoxications  I  looked  calmly  about 
me.'  'Calmly!'  sighed  she.  'That  is  enough,  Henri ; 
you  no  longer  love  me.' 

"  She  had  at  once  found,  you  perceive,  a  loophole  for 
escape.  In  scenes  like  these  an  adverb  is  dangerous.  But, 
happily,  curiosity  made  her  add:  'And  what  did  you  see? 
Have  I  ever  spoken  of  the  Duke  excepting  in  public  ?  Have 

you  detected  in  my  eyes ?'     'No,'  I  said,  'but  in  his. 

And  you  have  eight  times  made  me  go  to  Saint-Thomas 
d'Aquin  to  see  you  listening  to  the  same  mass  as  he.'  '  Ah  ! ' 
she  exclaimed,  '  then  I  have  made  you  jealous  !  '  '  Oh  !  I 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  519 

only  wish  I  could  be  !  '  said  I,  admiring  the  pliancy  of  her 
quick  intelligence,  and  these  acrobatic  feats  which  can  only  be 
successful  in  the  eyes  of  the  blind.  '  But  by  dint  of  going  to 
church  I  have  become  very  incredulous.  On  the  day  of  my 
first  cold,  and  your  first  treachery,  when  you  thought  I  was 
in  bed,  you  received  the  Duke,  and  you  told  me  you  had 
seen  no  one.'  '  Do  you  know  that  your  conduct  is  infam- 
ous ? '  'In  what  respect  ?  I  consider  your  marriage  to  the 
Duke  an  excellent  arrangement ;  he  gives  you  a  great  name, 
the  only  rank  that  suits  you,  a  brilliant  and  distinguished 
position.  You  will  be  one  of  the  queens  of  Paris.  I  should 
be  doing  you  a  wrong  if  I  placed  any  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
this  prospect,  this  distinguished  life,  this  splendid  alliance. 
Ah  !  Charlotte,  some  day  you  will  do  me  justice  by  discover- 
ing how  unlike  my  character  is  to  that  of  other  young  men. 
You  would  have  been  compelled  to  deceive  me ;  yes,  you 
would  have  found  it  very  difficult  to  break  with  me,  for  he 
watches  you.  It  is  time  that  we  should  part,  for  the  Duke  is 
rigidly  virtuous.  You  must  turn  prude  ;  I  advise  you  to  do 
so.  The  Duke  is  vain ;  he  will  be  proud  of  his  wife.'  '  Oh ! ' 
cried  she,  bursting  into  tears,  '  Henri,  if  only  you  had  spoken  ! 
Yes,  if  you  had  chosen  ' — it  was  I  who  was  to  blame,  you 
understand — '  we  would  have  gone  to  live  all  our  days  in  a 
corner,  married,  happy,  and  defied  the  world.'  'Well,  it  is 
too  late  now,'  said  I,  kissing  her  hands  and  putting  on  a  vic- 
timized air.  '  Good  God  !  But  I  can  undo  it  all ! '  she  said. 
'  No,  you  have  gone  too  far  with  the  Duke.  I  ought  indeed 
to  go  a  journey  to  part  us  more  effectually.  We  should  both 

have  reason  to  fear  our  own  affection '     '  Henri,  do  you 

think  the  Duke  has  any  suspicions?'  I  was  still  'Henri,' 
but  the  tu  was  lost  forever.  '  I  do  not  think  so,'  I  replied, 
assuming  the  manner  of  a  friend;  'but  be  as  devout  as  possible, 
reconcile  yourself  to  God,  for  the  Duke  waits  for  proofs;  he 
hesitates,  you  must  bring  him  to  the  point.' 

"  She  arose  and  walked  twice  round  the  boudoir  in  real  or 


320  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAtf. 

affected  agitation ;  then  she  no  doubt  found  an  attitude  and 
a  look  beseeming  the  new  state  of  affairs,  for  she  stopped  in 
front  of  me,  held  out  her  hand,  and  said  in  a  voice  broken  by 
emotion,  '  Well,  Henri,  you  are  loyal,  noble,  and  a  charming 
man  ;  J  shall  never  forget  you. ' 

"These  were  admirable  tactics.  She  was  bewitching  in 
this  transition  of  feeling,  indispensable  to  the  situation  in 
which  she  wished  to  place  herself  in  regard  to  me.  I  fell  into 
the  attitude,  the  manners,  and  the  look  of  a  man  so  deeply 
distressed  that  I  saw  her  too  newly  assumed  dignity  giving 
way ;  she  looked  at  me,  took  my  hand,  drew  me  along  almost, 
threw  me  on  to  the  sofa,  but  quite  gently,  and  said  after  a 
moment's  silence,  '  I  am  dreadfully  unhappy,  my  dear  fellow. 
Do  you  love  me?'  '  Oh  !  yes.'  'Well,  then,  what  will  be- 
come of  you  ? '  " 

At  this  point  the  women  all  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Though  I  can  still  surfer  when  I  recall  her  perfidy,  I  still 
laugh  at  her  expression  of  entire  conviction  and  sweet  satis- 
faction that  I  must  die,  or  at  any  rate  sink  into  perpetual 
melancholy,"  de  Marsay  went  on.  "Oh!  do  not  laugh  yet !" 
he  said  to  his  listeners  ;  "  there  is  better  to  come.  I  looked 
at  her  very  tenderly  after  a  pause,  and  said  to  her,  '  Yes,  that 
is  what  I  have  been  wondering.'  '  Well,  what  will  you  do  ? ' 

'I  asked  myself  that  the  day  after  my  cold.'  'And ?' 

she  asked  with  eager  anxiety.  '  And  I  have  made  advances 
to  the  little  lady  to  whom  I  was  supposed  to  be  attached.' 

"  Charlotte  started  up  from  the  sofa  like  a  frightened  doe, 
trembling  like  a  leaf,  gave  me  one  of  those  looks  in  which 
women  forego  all  their  dignity,  all  their  modesty,  their  refine- 
ment, and  even  their  grace  ;  the  sparkling  glitter  of  a  hunted 
viper's  eye  when  driven  into  a  corner,  and  ejaculated,  '  And 

I  have  loved  this  man  !  I  have  struggled  !  I  have '  On 

this  last  thought,  which  I  leave  you  to  guess,  she  made  the 
most  impressive  pause  I  ever  heard.  '  Good  God ! '  she  cried, 
'  how  unhappy  are  we  women  !  we  never  can  be  loved.  To 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN,  321 

you  there  is  nothing  serious  in  the  purest  feelings.  But  never 
mind  ;  when  you  cheat  us  you  still  are  our  dupes  ! '  'I  see 
that  plainly,'  said  I,  with  a  stricken  air ;  '  you  have  far  too 
much  wit  in  your  anger  for  your  heart  to  suffer  from  it.'  This 
modest  epigram  increased  her  rage  ;  she  found  some  tears  of 
vexation.  'You  disgust  me  with  the  world  and  with  life, 'she 
said ;  '  you  snatch  away  all  my  illusions ;  you  deprave  my 
heart.' 

"  She  said  to  me  all  that  I  had  a  right  to  say  to  her,  and 
with  a  simple  effrontery,  an  artless  audacity,  which  would  cer- 
tainly have  nailed  any  man  but  me  on  the  spot.  '  What  is  to 
become  of  us  poor  women  in  a  state  of  society  such  as  Louis 
XVIII. 's  charter  has  made  it?'  (Imagine  how  her  words  had 
run  away  with  her.)  '  Yes,  indeed,  we  are  born  to  suffer.  In 
matters  of  passion  we  are  always  superior  to  you,  and  you  are 
beneath  all  loyalty.  There  is  no  honesty  in  your  hearts.  To 
you  love  is  a  game  in  which  you  always  cheat.'  '  My  dear,' 
I  answered,  '  to  take  anything  serious  in  society  nowadays 
would  be  like  making  romantic  love  to  an  actress.'  *  What  a 
shameless  betrayal  !  It  was  deliberately  planned  !  '  '  No, 
only  a  rational  issue.'  '  Good-by,  Monsieur  de  Marsay,' 
she  said;  'you  have  deceived  me  horribly.'  '  Surely,'  I  re- 
plied, taking  up  a  submissive  attitude,  '  Madame  la  Duchesse 
will  not  remember  Charlotte's  grievances?  '  '  Certainly,'  she 
aswered  bitterly.  '  Then,  in  fact,  you  hate  me  ? '  She  bowed, 
and  I  said  to  myself,  '  There  is  something  still  left !  ' 

"  The  feeling  she  had  when  I  parted  from  her  allowed  her 
to  believe  that  she  still  had  something  to  avenge.  Well,  my 
friends,  I  have  carefully  studied  the  lives  of  men  who  have  had 
great  success  with  women,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  the 
Marechal  de  Richelieu,  or  Lauzun,  or  Louis  de  Valois  ever 
effected  a  more  judicious  retreat  at  the  first  attempt.  As  to 
my  mind  and  heart,  they  were  cast  in  a  mould  then  and  there, 
once  for  all,  and  the  power  of  control  I  thus  acquired  over 
the  thoughtless  impulses  which  make  us  commit  so  many 
21 


322  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

follies  gained  me  the  admirable  presence  of  mind  you  all 
know." 

"  How  deeply  I  pity  the  second  !  "  exclaimed  the  Baronne 
de  Nucingen. 

A  scarcely  perceptible  smile  on  de  Marsay's  pale  lips  made 
Delphine  de  Nucingen  color. 

"  How  we  do  forget  !  "  said  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 

The  great  banker's  simplicity  was  so  extremely  droll  that 
his  wife,  who  was  de  Marsay's  "second,"  could  not  help 
laughing  like  every  one  else. 

"You  are  all  ready  to  condemn  the  woman,"  said  Lady 
Dudley.  "  Well,  I  quite  understand  that  she  did  not  regard 
her  marriage  as  an  act  of  inconstancy.  Men  will  never  dis- 
tinguish between  constancy  and  fidelity.  I  know  the  woman 
whose  story  Monsieur  de  Marsay  has  told  us,  she  is  one  of  the 
last  of  your  truly  great  ladies." 

"Alas  !  my  lady,  you  are  right,"  replied  de  Marsay.  "  For 
very  nearly  fifty  years  we  have  been  looking  on  at  the  pro- 
gressive ruin  of  all  social  distinctions.  We  ought  to  have 
saved  our  women  from  this  great  wreck,  but  the  civil  code  has 
swept  its  leveling  influence  over  their  heads.  However  ter- 
rible the  words,  they  must  be  spoken  :  Duchesses  are  vanish- 
ing, and  marquises  too  !  As  to  the  baronesses — I  must  apolo- 
gize to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  who  will  become  a  countess 
when  her  husband  is  made  a  peer  of  France — baronesses  have 
never  succeeded  in  getting  people  to  take  them  seriously." 

"Aristocracy  begins  with  the  viscountess,"  said  Blondet 
with  a  smile. 

"  Countesses  will  survive,"  said  de  Marsay.  "  An  elegant 
woman  will  be  more  or  less  of  a  countess — a  countess  of  the 
empire  or  of  yesterday,  a  countess  of  the  old  block,  or,  as  they 
say  in  Italy,  a  countess  by  courtesy.  But  as  to  the  great  lady, 
she  died  out  with  the  dignified  splendor  of  the  last  century, 
with  powder,  patches,  high-heeled  slippers,  and  stiff  bodices 
with  a  delta  stomacher  of  bows.  Duchesses  in  these  days  can 


ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  323 

pass  through  a  door  without  any  need  to  widen  it  for  their 
hoops.  The  empire  saw  the  last  of  gowns  with  trains  !  I  am 
still  puzzled  to  understand  how  a  sovereign  who  wished  to  see 
his  drawing-room  swept  by  ducal  satin  and  velvet  did  not 
make  indestructible  laws.  Napoleon  never  guessed  the  results 
of  the  code  he  was  so  proud  of.  That  man,  by  creating 
duchesses,  founded  the  race  of  our  'ladies'  of  to-day — the 
indirect  offspring  of  his  legislation." 

"  It  was  logic,  handled  as  a  hammer  by  boys  just  out  of 
school  and  by  obscure  journalists,  which  demolished  the 
splendors  of  the  social  state,"  said  the  Comte  de  Vandenesse. 
"  In  these  days  every  rogue  who  can  hold  his  head  straight  in 
his  collar,  cover  his  manly  bosom  with  half  an  ell  of  satin 
by  way  of  a  cuirass,  display  a  brow  where  apocryphal  genius 
gleams  under  curling  locks,  and  strut  in  a  pair  of  patent- 
leather  pumps  graced  by  silk  socks  which  cost  six  francs, 
screws  his  eyeglass  into  one  of  his  eye-sockets  by  puckering 
up  his  cheek,  and  whether  he  be  an  attorney's  clerk,  a  con- 
tractor's son,  or  a  banker's  bastard,  he  stares  impertinently  at 
the  prettiest  duchess,  appraises  her  as  she  walks  downstairs, 
and  says  to  his  friend — dressed  by  Buisson,  as  we  all  are,  and 
mounted  in  patent-leather  like  any  duke  himself — '  There,  my 
boy,  that  is  a  perfect  lady.' ' 

"You  have  not  known  how  to  form  a  party,"  said  Lord 
Dudley ;  "  it  will  be  a  long  time  yet  before  you  have  a  policy. 
You  talk  a  great  deal  in  France  about  organizing  labor,  and 
you  have  not  yet  organized  property.  So  this  is  what  hap- 
pens :  Any  duke — and  even  in  the  time  of  Louis  XVIII.  and 
Charles  X.  there  were  some  left  who  had  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  a  magnificent  residence,  and  a  sumptuous 
train  of  servants — well,  such  a  duke  could  live  like  a  great 
lord.  The  last  of  these  great  gentlemen  in  France  was  the 
Prince  de  Talleyrand.  This  duke  leaves  four  children,  two 
of  them  girls.  Granting  that  he  has  great  luck  in  marrying 
them  all  well,  each  of  these  descendants  will  have  but  sixty  or 


324  ANOTHER   STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

eighty  thousand  francs  a  year  now;  each  is  the  father  or 
mother  of  children,  and  consequently  obliged  to  live  with  the 
strictest  economy  in  a  flat  on  the  first  floor  or  second  floor  of 
a  large  house.  Who  knows  if  they  may  not  even  be  hunting 
a  fortune?  Henceforth  the  eldest  son's  wife,  a  duchess  in 
name  only,  has  no  carriage,  no  people,  no  opera-box,  no  time 
to  herself.  She  has  not  her  own  rooms  in  the  family  mansion, 
nor  her  fortune,  nor  her  pretty  toys ;  she  is  buried  in  marriage 
as  a  wife  in  the  Rue  Saint-Denis  is  buried  in  trade ;  she  buys 
socks  for  her  dear  little  children,  nurses  them  herself,  and 
keeps  an  eye  on  her  girls,  whom  she  no  longer  sends  to  school 
at  a  convent.  Thus  your  noblest  dames  have  been  turned 
into  worthy  brood-hens." 

"Alas!  it  is  true,"  said  Joseph  Bridau.  "In  our  day  we 
cannot  show  those  beautiful  flowers  of  womanhood  which 
graced  the  golden  ages  of  the  French  monarchy.  The  great 
lady's  fan  is  broken.  A  woman  has  nothing  now  to  blush 
for;  she  need  not  slander  or  whisper,  hide  her  face  or  reveal 
it.  A  fan  is  of  no  use  now  but  for  fanning  herself.  When 
once  a  thing  is  no  more  than  what  it  is,  it  is  too  useful  to  be 
a  form  of  luxury." 

"  Everything  in  France  has  aided  and  abetted  the  '  perfect 
lady,'  "  said  Daniel  d'Arthez.  "  The  aristocracy  has  acknowl- 
edged her  by  retreating  to  the  recesses  of  its  landed  estates, 
where  it  has  hidden  itself  to  die — emigrating  inland  before 
the  march  of  ideas,  as  of  old  to  foreign  lands  before  that  of 
the  masses.  The  women  who  could  have  founded  European 
salons,  could  have  guided  opinion  and  turned  it  inside  out 
like  a  glove,  could  have  ruled  the  world  by  ruling  the  men  of 
art  or  of  intellect  who  ought  to  have  ruled  it,  have  committed 
the  blunder  of  abandoning  their  ground  ;  they  were  ashamed 
of  having  to  fight  against  the  citizen  class  drunk  with  power, 
and  rushing  out  on  to  the  stage  of  the  world,  there  to  be  cut 
to  pieces  perhaps  by  the  barbarians  who  are  at  its  heels. 
Hence,  where  the  middle  class  insists  on  seeing  princesses, 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  325 

these  are  really  only  lady-like  young  women.  In  these  days 
princes  can  find  no  great  ladies  whom  they  may  compromise ; 
they  cannot  even  confer  honor  on  a  woman  taken  up  at  ran- 
dom. The  Due  de  Bourbon  was  the  last  prince  to  avail 
himself  of  this  privilege." 

"  And  God  alone  knows  how  dearly  he  paid  for  it !  "  said 
Lord  Dudley. 

"  Nowadays  princes  have  lady-like  wives,  obliged  to  share 
their  opera-box  with  other  ladies ;  royal  favor  could  not  raise 
them  higher  by  a  hair's-breadth ;  they  glide  unremarkable 
between  the  waters  of  the  citizen  class  and  those  of  the  nobil- 
ity— not  altogether  noble  nor  altogether  middle  class,"  said 
the  Marquise  de  Rochegude  acridly. 

"  The  press  has  fallen  heir  to  the  woman,"  exclaimed  Ras- 
tignac.  "  She  no  longer  has  the  quality  of  a  spoken  feuillcton* 
— delightful  calumnies  graced  by  elegant  language.  We  read 
feuilletons  written  in  a  dialect  which  changes  every  three 
years,  society  papers  about  as  mirthful  as  an  undertaker's 
mute,  and  as  light  as  the  lead  of  their  type.  French  conver- 
sation is  carried  on  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other 
in  a  revolutionary  jargon,  through  long  columns  of  type 
printed  in  old  mansions  where  a  press  groans  in  the  place 
where  formerly  elegant  company  used  to  meet." 

"  The  knell  of  the  highest  society  is  tolling,"  said  a  Rus- 
sian Prince.  "  Do  you  hear  it?  And  the  first  stroke  is  your 
modern  word  lady." 

"You  are  right,  Prince,"  said  de  Marsay.  "The  'perfect 
lady,'  issuing  from  the  ranks  of  the  nobility,  or  sprouting 
from  the  citizen  class,  and  the  product  of  every  soil,  even  of 
the  provinces,  is  the  expression  of  these  times,  a  last  remain- 
ing embodiment  of  good  taste,  grace,  wit,  and  distinction, 
all  combined,  but  dwarfed.  We  shall  see  no  more  great  ladies 
in  France,  but  there  will  be  '  ladies  '  for  a  long  time,  elected 
by  public  opinion  to  form  an  upper  chamber  of  women,  and 

*  The  light  gossip  of  a  newspaper. 


326  ANOTHER   STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

who  will  be  among  the  fair  sex  what  a  '  gentleman '  is  in 
England." 

"And  that  they  call  progress!"  exclaimed  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches.  "I  should  like  to  know  where  the  progress 
lies."' 

"  Why  in  this,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen.  "Formerly 
a  woman  might  have  the  voice  of  a  fish-seller,  the  walk  of  a 
grenadier,  the  face  of  an  impudent  courtesan,  her  hair  too 
high  on  her  forehead,  a  large  foot,  a  thick  hand — she  was  a 
great  lady  in  spite  of  it  all ;  but  in  these  days,  even  if  she 
was  a  Montmorency — if  a  Montmorency  could  ever  be  such 
a  creature — she  would  not  be  a  lady." 

"But  what  do  you  mean  by  a  'perfect  lady?'"  asked 
Count  Adam  Laginski. 

"  She  is  a  modern  product,  a  deplorable  triumph  of  the 
elective  system  as  applied  to  the  fair  sex,"  said  the  minister. 
"  Every  revolution  has  a  word  of  its  own  which  epitomizes 
and  depicts  it." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  Russian,  who  had  come  to  make 
a  literary  reputation  in  Paris.  "The  explanation  of  certain 
words  added  from  time  to  time  to  your  beautiful  language 
would  make  a  magnificent  history.  Organize,  for  instance,  is 
the  word  of  the  empire,  and  sums  up  Napoleon  completely." 

"  But  all  that  does  not  explain  what  is  meant  by  a  lady  !  " 
the  young  Pole  exclaimed,  with  some  impatience. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Emile  Blondet  to  Count 
Adam.  "  One  fine  morning  you  go  for  a  saunter  in  Paris. 
It  is  past  two,  but  five  has  not  yet  struck.  You  see  a  woman 
coming  toward  you  ;  your  first  glance  at  her  is  like  the  pre- 
face to  a  good  book,  it  leads  you  to  expect  a  world  of  elegance 
and  refinement.  Like  a  botanist  over  hill  and  dale  in  his 
pursuit  of  plants,  among  the  vulgarities  of  Paris  life  you  have 
at  last  found  a  rare  flower.  This  woman  is  attended  by  two 
very  distinguished-looking  men,  of  whom  one,  at  any  rate, 
wears  an  order ;  or  else  a  servant  out  of  livery  follows  her  at 


ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  327 

a  distance  of  ten  yards.  She  displays  no  gaudy  colors,  no 
open-worked  stockings,  no  over-elaborate  waist-buckle,  no 
embroiderd  frills  to  her  drawers  fussing  round  her  ankles. 
You  will  see  that  she  is  shod  with  prunella  slippers,  with  san- 
dals crossed  over  extremely  fine  cotton  stockings,  or  plain 
gray  silk  stockings ;  or  perhaps  she  wears  shoes  of  the  most 
exquisite  simplicity.  You  notice  that  her  gown  is  made  of  a 
neat  and  inexpensive  material,  but  made  in  a  way  that  sur- 
prises more  than  one  woman  of  the  middle  class  ;  it  is  almost 
always  a  long  pelisse,  with  bows  to  fasten  it,  and  neatly  bound 
with  fine  cord  or  an  imperceptible  braid.  The  unknown  has 
a  way  of  her  own  in  wrapping  herself  in  her  shawl  or  mantilla; 
she  knows  how  to  draw  it  around  her  from  her  hips  to  her 
neck,  outlining  a  carapace,  as  it  were,  which  would  make  an 
ordinary  woman  look  like  a  turtle,  but  which  in  her  sets  off 
the  most  beautiful  forms  while  concealing  them.  How  does 
she  do  it  ?  This  secret  she  keeps,  though  unguarded  by  any 
patent. 

"As  she  walks  she  gives  herself  a  little  concentric  and  har- 
monious twist,  which  makes  her  supple  or  dangerous  slender- 
ness  writhe  under  the  stuff,  as  a  snake  does  under  the  green 
gauze  of  trembling  grass.  Is  it  to  an  angel  or  a  devil  that  she 
owes  the  graceful  undulation  which  plays  under  her  long, 
black  silk  cape,  stirs  its  lace  frill,  sheds  an  airy  balm,  and 
what  I  should  like  to  call  the  breeze  of  a  Parisienne  ?  You 
may  recognize  over  her  arms,  round  her  waist,  about  her 
throat,  a  science  of  drapery  recalling  the  antique  Mnemosyne, 
mother  of  the  Muses. 

"  Oh  !  how  thoroughly  she  understands  the  cut  of  her  gait 
— forgive  the  expression.  Study  the  way  she  puts  her  foot 
forward,  moulding  her  skirt  with  such  a  decent  preciseness 
that  the  passer-by  is  filled  with  admiration,  mingled  with  de- 
sire, but  subdued  by  deep  respect.  When  an  Englishwoman 
attempts  this  step  she  looks  like  a  grenadier  marching  for- 
ward to  attack  a  redoubt.  The  women  of  Paris  have  a  genius 


328  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

for  walking.  The  municipality  really  owed  them  asphalt  side- 
walks. 

"  Our  unknown  jostles  no  one.  If  she  wants  to  pass,  she 
waits  with  proud  humility  till  some  one  makes  way.  The 
distinction  peculiar  to  a  well-bred  woman  betrays  itself,  espe- 
cially in  the  way  she  holds  her  shawl  or  cloak  crossed  over 
her  bosom.  Even  as  she  walks  she  has  a  little  air  of  serene 
dignity,  like  Raphael's  Madonnas  in  their  frames.  Her  aspect, 
at  once  quiet  and  disdainful,  makes  the  most  insolent  dandy 
step  aside  for  her. 

"  Her  bonnet,  remarkable  for  its  simplicity,  is  trimmed 
with  crisp  ribbons ;  there  may  be  flowers  in  it,  but  the  cleverest 
of  such  women  wear  only  bows.  Feathers  demand  a  carriage ; 
flowers  are  too  showy.  Beneath  it  you  see  the  fresh  unworn 
face  of  a  woman  who,  without  conceit,  is  sure  of  herself ;  who 
looks  at  nothing,  and  sees  everything ;  whose  vanity,  satiated 
by  being  constantly  gratified,  stamps  her  face  with  an  indif- 
ference which  piques  your  curiosity.  She  knows  that  she  is 
looked  at ;  she  knows  that  everybody,  even  women,  turn 
round  to  see  her  again.  And  she  threads  her  way  through 
Paris  like  a  gossamer,  spotless  and  pure. 

"  This  delightful  species  affects  the  hottest  latitudes,  the 
cleanest  longitudes  of  Paris ;  you  will  meet  her  between  the 
loth  and  noth  arcade  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli ;  along  the  line 
of  the  boulevards  from  the  equator  of  the  Passage  des  Pano- 
ramas, where  the  products  of  India  flourish,  where  the  warmest 
creations  of  industry  are  displayed,  to  the  cape  of  the  Made- 
leine; in  the  least  muddy  districts  of  the  citizen  quarters, 
between  No.  30  and  No.  130  of  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  Saint- 
Honore.  During  the  winter  she  haunts  the  terrace  of  the 
Feuillants,  but  not  the  asphalt  pavement  that  lies  parallel. 
According  to  the  weather,  she  may  be  seen  flying  in  the 
avenue  of  the  Champs-Elysees,  which  is  bounded  on  the  east 
by  the  Place  Louis  XV.,  on  the  west  by  the  Avenue  de  Ma- 
rigny>  to  the  south  by  the  road,  to  the  north  by  the  gardens 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  329 

of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honore.  Never  is  this  pretty  variety 
of  woman  to  be  seen  in  the  hyperborean  regions  of  the  Rue 
Saint-Denis,  never  in  the  Kamtschatka  of  miry,  narrow,  com- 
mercial streets ;  never  anywhere  in  bad  weather.  These 
flowers  of  Paris,  blooming  only  in  Oriental  weather,  perfume 
the  highways  ;  and  after  five  o'clock  fold  up  like  morning- 
glory  flowers.  The  women  you  will  see  later,  looking  a  little 
like  them,  trying  to  ape  them,  are  would-be  ladies ;  while  the 
fair  unknown,  your  Beatrice  of  a  day,  is  a  '  perfect  lady.' 

"  It  is  not  very  easy  for  a  foreigner,  my  dear  Count,  to 
recognize  the  differences  by  which  the  old  observer  distin- 
guishes them — women  are  such  consummate  actresses ;  but 
they  are  glaring  in  the  eyes  of  Parisians :  hooks  ill  fastened, 
strings  showing  loops  of  rusty-white  tape  through  a  gaping 
slit  in  the  back,  rubbed  shoe-leather,  ironed  bonnet-strings, 
an  overfull  skirt,  an  overtight  waist.  You  will  see  a  certain 
effort  in  the  intentional  droop  of  the  eyelid.  There  is  some- 
thing conventional  in  the  attitude. 

"As  to  the  middle  class,  the  citizen  womankind,  she  can 
not  possibly  be  mistaken  for  the  lady  ;  she  is  an  admirable 
foil  to  her,  she  accounts  for  the  spell  cast  over  you  by  the 
unknown.  She  is  bustling,  and  goes  out  in  all  weathers,  trots 
about,  comes,  goes,  gazes,  does  not  know  whether  she  will  or 
will  not  go  into  a  store.  Where  the  lady  knows  just  what 
she  wants  and  what  she  is  doing,  the  townswoman  is  unde- 
cided, tucks  up  her  skirts  to  cross  a  gutter,  dragging  a  child 
by  the  hand,  which  compels  her  to  look  out  for  the  vehicles ; 
she  is  a  mother  in  public,  and  talks  to  her  daughter ;  she 
carries  money  in  her  bag,  and  has  open-work  stockings  on  her 
feet ;  in  winter,  she  wears  a  boa  over  her  fur  cloak ;  in 
summer,  a  shawl  and  a  scarf;  she  is  accomplished  in  the  re- 
dundancies of  dress. 

"You  will  meet  the  fair  unknown  again  at  the  Italiens,  at 
the  opera,  at  a  ball.  She  will  then  appear  under  such  a  differ- 
ent aspect  that  you  would  think  them  two  beings  devoid  of  any 


330  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

analogy.  The  woman  has  emerged  from  those  mysterious 
garments  like  a  butterfly  from  its  silky  cocoon.  She  serves 
up,  like  some  rare  dainty,  to  your  ravished  eyes,  the  forms 
which  her  bodice  scarcely  revealed  in  the  morning.  At  the 
theatre  she  never  mounts  higher  than  the  second  tier,  except- 
ing at  the  Italiens.  You  can  there  watch  at  your  leisure  the 
studied  deliberateness  of  her  movements.  The  enchanting 
deceiver  plays  off  all  the  little  political  artifices  of  her  sex  so 
naturally  as  to  exclude  all  idea  of  art  or  premeditation.  If 
she  has  a  royally  beautiful  hand,  the  most  perspicacious  be- 
holder will  believe  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  she 
should  twist,  or  refix,  or  push  aside  the  ringlet  or  curl  she 
plays  with.  If  she  has  some  dignity  of  profile,  you  will  be 
persuaded  that  she  is  giving  irony  or  grace  to  what  she  says 
to  her  neighbor,  sitting  in  such  a  position  as  to  produce  the 
magical  effect  of  the  '  lost  profile,'  so  dear  to  great  painters, 
by  which  the  cheek  catches  the  high  light,  the  nose  is  shown 
in  clear  outline,  the  nostrils  are  transparently  rosy,  the  fore- 
head squarely  modeled,  the  eye  has  its  spangle  of  fire,  but 
fixed  on  space,  and  the  white  roundness  of  the  chin  is  accent- 
uated by  a  line  of  light.  If  she  has  a  pretty  foot,  she  will 
throw  herself  on  a  sofa  with  the  coquettish  grace  of  a  cat  in 
the  sunshine,  her  feet  outstretched  without  your  feeling  that 
her  attitude  is  anything  but  the  most  charming  model  ever 
given  to  a  sculptor  by  lassitude. 

"Only  the  perfect  lady  is  quite  at  her  ease  in  full  dress; 
nothing  inconveniences  her.  You  will  never  see  her,  like  the 
woman  of  the  citizen  class,  pulling  up  a  refractory  shoulder- 
strap,  or  pushing  down  a  rebellious  whalebone,  or  looking 
whether  her  tucker  is  doing  its  office  of  faithful  guardian  to  two 
treasures  of  dazzling  whiteness,  or  glancing  in  the  mirrors  to 
see  if  her  head-dress  is  keeping  its  place.  Her  toilet  is  always 
in  harmony  with  her  character ;  she  has  had  time  to  study 
herself,  to  learn  what  becomes  her,  for  she  has  long  known 
what  does  not  suit  her.  You  will  not  find  her  as  you  go  out ; 


ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  331 

she  vanishes  before  the  end  of  the  play.  If  by  chance  she  is 
to  be  seen,  calm  and  stately,  on  the  stairs,  she  is  experiencing 
some  violent  emotion  ;  she  has  to  bestow  a  glance,  to  receive 
a  promise.  Perhaps  she  goes  down  so  slowly  on  purpose  to 
gratify  the  vanity  of  a  slave  whom  she  sometimes  obeys.  If 
your  meeting  takes  place  at  a  ball  or  an  evening  party,  you 
will  gather  the  honey,  natural  or  affected,  of  her  insinuating 
voice ;  her  empty  words  will  enchant  you,  and  she  will  know 
how  to  give  them  the  value  of  thought  by  her  inimitable 
bearing." 

"To  be  such  a  woman,  is  it  not  necessary  to  be  very  clever?" 
asked  the  Polish  Count. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  have  great  taste,"  replied  the  Princesse 
de  Cadignan. 

"And  in  France  taste  is  more  than  cleverness,"  said  the 
Russian. 

"  This  woman's  cleverness  is  the  triumph  of  a  purely  plastic 
art,"  Blondet  went  on.  "You  will  not  know  what  she  said, 
but  you  will  be  fascinated.  She  will  toss  her  head,  or  gently 
shrug  her  white  shoulders;  she  will  gild  an  insignificant 
speech  with  a  charming  pout  and  smile ;  or  throw  a  Vol- 
tairean  epigram  into  an  '  Indeed  !  '  an  '  Ah  ! '  a  '  What  then  ! ' 
A  jerk  of  her  head  will  be  her  most  pertinent  form  of  ques- 
tioning ;  she  will  give  meaning  to  the  movement  by  which  she 
twirls  a  vinaigrette  hanging  to  her  finger  by  a  ring.  She  gets 
an  artificial  grandeur  out  of  superlative  trivialities ;  she  simply 
drops  her  hand  impressively,  letting  it  fall  over  the  arm  of  her 
chair  as  dewdrops  hang  on  the  cup  of  a  flower,  and  all  is  said 
— she  has  pronounced  judgment  beyond  appeal,  to  the  appre- 
hension of  the  most  obtuse.  She  knows  how  to  listen  to  you; 
she  gives  you  the  opportunity  of  shining,  and — I  ask  your 
modesty — those  moments  are  rare?  " 

The  candid  simplicity  of  the  young  Pole,  to  whom  Blondet 
spoke,  made  all  the  party  shout  with  laughter. 

"  Now,  you  will  not  talk  for  half-an-hour  with  a  bourgeoise 


332  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

without  her  alluding  to  her  husband  in  one  way  or  another," 
Blondet  went  on  with  unperturbed  gravity;  "  whereas,  even  if 
you  know  that  your  lady  is  married,  she  will  have  the  delicacy 
to  conceal  her  husband  so  effectually  that  it  will  need  the 
enterprise  of  Christopher  Columbus  to  discover  him.  Often 
you  will  fail  in  the  attempt  single-handed.  If  you  have  had 
no  opportunity  of  inquiring,  toward  the  end  of  the  evening 
you  detect  her  gazing  fixedly  at  a  middle-aged  man  wearing  a 
decoration,  who  bows  and  goes  out.  She  has  ordered  her 
carriage,  and  goes. 

"You  are  not  the  rose,  but  you  have  been  with  the  rose, 
and  you  go  to  bed  under  the  golden  canopy  of  a  delicious 
dream,  which  will  last  perhaps  after  sleep,  with  his  heavy 
finger,  has  opened  the  ivory  gates  of  the  temple  of  dreams. 

"The  lady,  when  she  is  at  home,  sees  no  one  before  four; 
she  is  shrewd  enough  always  to  keep  you  waiting.  In  her 
house  you  will  find  everything  in  good  taste ;  her  luxury  is 
for  hourly  use,  and  duly  renewed  ;  you  will  see  nothing  under 
glass  shades,  no  rags  of  wrappings  hanging  about,  and  looking 
like  a  pantry.  You  will  find  the  staircase  warmed.  Flowers 
on  all  sides  will  charm  your  sight — flowers,  the  only  gift  she 
accepts,  and  those  only  from  certain  people,  for  nosegays  live 
but  a  day ;  they  give  pleasure,  and  must  be  replaced ;  to  her 
they  are,  as  in  the  East,  a  symbol  and  a  promise.  The  costly 
toys  of  fashion  lie  about,  but  not  so  as  to  suggest  a  museum 
or  a  curiosity  shop.  You  will  find  her  sitting  by  the  fire  in  a 
low  chair,  from  which  she  will  not  rise  to  greet  you.  Her 
talk  will  not  now  be  what  it  was  at  the  ball ;  there  she  was  our 
creditor ;  in  her  own  home  she  owes  you  the  pleasure  of  her 
wit.  These  are  the  shades  of  which  the  lady  is  a  marvelous 
mistress.  What  she  likes  in  you  is  a  man  to  swell  her  circle, 
an  object  for  the  cares  and  attentions  which  such  women  are 
now  happy  to  bestow.  Therefore,  to  attract  you  to  her 
drawing-room,  she  will  be  bewitchingly  charming.  This 
especially  is  where  you  feel  how  isolated  women  are  nowa- 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  333 

days,  and  why  they  want  a  little  world  of  their  own  to  which 
they  may  seem  a  constellation.  Conversation  is  impossible 
without  generalities."  . 

"Yes,"  said  de  Marsay,  "you  have  truly  hit  the  fault  of 
our  age.  The  epigram — a  volume  in  a  word — no  longer 
strikes,  as  it  did  in  the  eighteenth  century,  at  persons  or  at 
things,  but  at  squalid  events,  and  it  dies  in  a  day." 

"  Hence,"  said  Blondet,  "  the  intelligence  of  the  lady,  if 
she  has  any,  consists  in  casting  doubts  on  everything,  while 
the  bourgeoise  uses  hers  to  affirm  everything.  Here  lies  the 
great  difference  between  the  two  women  ;  the  townswoman  is 
certainly  virtuous ;  the  lady  does  not  know  yet  whether  she  is, 
or  whether  she  always  will  be  ;  she  hesitates  and  struggles 
where  the  other  refuses  point-blank  and  falls  full  length. 
This  hesitancy  in  everything  is  one  of  the  last  graces  left  to 
her  by  our  horrible  times.  She  rarely  goes  to  church,  but  she 
will  talk  to  you  of  religion  ;  and  if  you  have  the  good  taste  to 
affect  freethought,  she  will  try  to  convert  you,  for  you  will  have 
opened  a  way  for  the  stereotyped  phrases,  the  head-shaking 
and  gestures  understood  by  all  these  women  :  '  For  shame  ! 
I  thought  you  had  too  much  sense  to  attack  religion.  Society 
is  tottering,  and  you  deprive  it  of  its  support.  Why,  religion 
at  this  moment  means  you  and  me  ;  it  is  property,  and  the 
future  of  our  children  !  Ah  !  let  us  not  be  selfish  !  Individu- 
alism is  the  disease  of  the  age  and  religion  is  the  only  remedy ; 
it  unites  families  which  your  laws  put  asunder,'  and  so  forth. 
Then  she  plunges  into  some  neo-Christian  speech  sprinkled 
with  political  notions  which  is  neither  catholic  nor  protestant 
but — moral  ?  Oh  !  deuced  moral  ! — in  which  you  may  rec- 
ognize a  fag-end  of  every  material  woven  by  modern  doc- 
trines, at  loggerheads  together." 

The  women  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  airs  by  which 
Blondet  illustrated  his  satire. 

"This  explanation,  dear  Count  Adam,"  said  Blondet, 
turning  to  the  Pole,  "  will  have  proved  to  you  that  the  '  per- 


334  ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

feet  lady'  represents  the  intellectual  no  less  than  the  political 
muddle,  just  as  she  is  surrounded  by  the  showy  and  not  very 
lasting  products  of  an  industry  which  is  always  aiming  at  de- 
stroying its  work  in  order  to  replace  it  by  something  else. 
When  you  leave  her  you  say  to  yourself:  'She  certainly  has 
superior  ideas  ! '  And  you  believe  it  all  the  more  because  she 
will  have  sounded  your  heart  with  a  delicate  touch  and  have 
asked  you  your  secrets ;  she  affects  ignorance,  to  learn  every- 
thing ;  there  are  some  things  she  never  knows,  not  even  when 
she  knows  them.  You  alone  will  be  uneasy,  you  will  know 
nothing  of  the  state  of  her  heart.  The  great  ladies  of  old 
flaunted  their  love-affairs  with  newspapers  and  advertisements  ; 
in  these  days  the  lady  has  her  little  passion  neatly  ruled  like  a 
sheet  of  music  with  its  crotchets  and  quavers  and  minims,  its 
rests,  its  pauses,  its  sharps  to  sign  the  key.  A  mere  weak 
woman,  she  is  anxious  not  to  compromise  her  love,  or  her 
husband,  or  the  future  of  her  children.  Name,  position,  and 
fortune  are  no  longer  flags  so  respected  as  to  protect  all  kinds 
of  merchandise  on  board.  The  whole  aristocracy  no  longer 
advances  in  a  body  to  screen  the  lady.  She  has  not,  like  the 
great  lady  of  the  past,  the  demeanor  of  lofty  antagonism  ;  she 
can  crush  nothing  under  foot,  it  is  she  who  would  be  crushed. 
Thus  she  is  apt  at  Jesuitical  mezzo  terming  (middle  courses) ; 
she  is  a  creature  of  equivocal  compromises,  of  guarded  pro- 
prieties, of  anonymous  passions  steered  between  two  reef- 
bound  shores.  She  is  as  much  afraid  of  her  servants  as  an 
Englishwoman  who  lives  in  dread  of  a  trial  in  the  divorce 
court.  This  woman — so  free  at  a  ball,  so  attractive  out  walk- 
ing— is  a  slave  at  home;  she  is  never  independent  but  in 
perfect  privacy,  or  theoretically.  She  must  preserve  herself 
in  her  position  as  a  lady.  This  is  her  task. 

"For  in  our  day  a  woman  repudiated  by  her  husband,  re- 
duced to  a  meagre  allowance,  with  no  carriage,  no  luxury,  no 
opera-box,  none  of  the  divine  accessories  of  the  toilet,  is  no 
longer  a  wife,  a  maid,  or  a  townswoman ;  she  is  adrift,  and 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  335 

becomes  a  chattel.  The  Carmelites  will  not  receive  a  married 
woman ;  it  would  be  bigamy.  Would  her  lover  still  have 
anything  to  say  to  her?  That  is  the  question.  Thus  your 
perfect  lady  may  perhaps  give  occasion  to  calumny,  never  to 
slander." 

"It  is  all  horribly  true,"  said  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

"And  so,"  responded  Blondet,  "our  'perfect  lady'  lives 
between  English  hypocrisy  and  the  delightful  frankness  of  the 
eighteenth  century — a  bastard  system,  symptomatic  of  an  age 
in  which  nothing  that  grows  up  is  at  all  like  the  thing  that 
has  vanished,  in  which  transition  leads  nowhere,  every- 
thing is  a  matter  of  degree;  all  the  great  figures  shrink  into 
the  background,  and  distinction  is  purely  personal.  I  am 
fully  convinced  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  woman,  even  if  she 
was  born  close  to  a  throne,  to  acquire  before  the  age  of  five- 
and-twenty  the  encyclopaedic  knowledge  of  trifles,  the  prac- 
tice of  manoeuvring,  the  important  small  things,  the  musical 
tones  and  harmony  of  coloring,  the  angelic  bedevilments  and 
innocent  cunning,  the  speech  and  the  silence,  the  seriousness 
and  the  banter,  the  wit  and  the  obtuseness,  the  diplomacy  and 
the  ignorance  which  make  up  the  perfect  lady." 

"And  where,  in  accordance  with  the  sketch  you  have 
drawn,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  Emile  Blondet, 
"would  you  class  the  female  author?  Is  she  a  perfect  lady — 
a  woman  commc  ilfaut  ?"  (as  she  should  be). 

"When  she  has  no  genius,  she  is  a  woman  comme  il  rfen 
faut  pas"  (who  is  not  as  she  should  be),  Blondet  replied, 
emphasizing  the  words  with  a  stolen  glance,  which  might 
make  them  seem  praise  frankly  addressed  to  Camille  Maupin. 
"This  epigram  is  not  mine,  but  Napoleon's,"  he  added. 

"You  need  not  owe  Napoleon  any  grudge  on  that  score," 
said  Canalis,  with  an  emphatic  tone  and  gesture.  "  It  was 
one  of  his  weaknesses  to  be  jealous  of  literary  genius — for  he 
had  his  mean  points.  Who  will  ever  explain,  depict,  or  un- 
derstand Napoleon  ?  A  man  represented  with  his  arms  folded, 


336  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

and  who  did  everything,  who  was  the  greatest  force  ever  known, 
the  most  concentrated,  the  most  mordant,  the  most  acid  of 
all  forces ;  a  singular  genius  who  carried  armed  civilization 
ih  every  direction  without  fixing  it  anywhere ;  a  man  who  could 
do  everything  because  he  willed  everything  ;  a  prodigious 
phenomenon  of  will  conquering  an  illness  by  a  battle,  and  yet 
doomed  to  die  of  disease  in  bed  after  living  in  the  midst  of 
ball  and  bullets ;  a  man  with  a  code  and  a  sword  in  his  brain, 
word  and  deed  ;  a  clear-sighted  spirit  that  foresaw  everything 
but  his  own  fall ;  a  capricious  politician  who  risked  men  by 
handfuls  out  of  economy,  and  who  spared  three  heads — those 
of  Talleyrand,  of  Pozzo  di  Borgo,  and  of  Metternich,  diplo- 
matists whose  death  would  have  saved  the  French  empire,  and 
who  seemed  to  him  of  greater  weight  than  thousands  of  sol- 
diers; a  man  to  whom  nature,  as  a  rare  privilege,  had  given  a 
heart  in  a  frame  of  bronze ;  mirthful  and  kind  at  midnight 
amid  women,  and  next  morning  manipulating  Europe  as  a 
young  girl  might  amuse  herself  by  splashing  the  water  in  her 
bath  !  Hypocritical  and  generous ;  loving  tawdriness  and 
simplicity;  devoid  of  taste,  but  protecting  the  arts;  and,  in 
spite  of  these  antitheses,  really  great  in  everything  by  instinct 
or  by  temperament ;  Caesar  at  five-and-twenty,  Cromwell  at 
thirty;  and  then,  like  my  grocer  buried  in  Pere  Lachaise,  a 
good  husband  and  a  good  father.  In  short,  he  improvised 
public  works,  empires,  kings,  codes,  verses,  a  romance — and  all 
with  more  range  than  precision.  Did  he  not  aim  at  making 
all  Europe  France?  And,  after  making  us  weigh  on  the  earth 
in  such  away  as  to  change  the  laws  of  gravitation,  he  left  us 
poorer  than  on  the  day  when  he  first  laid  hands  on  us;  while 
he,  who  had  taken  an  empire  by  his  name,  lost  his  name  on 
the  frontier  of  his  empire  in  a  sea  of  blood  and  soldiers.  A 
man  all  thought  and  all  action,  who  comprehended  Desaix 
and  Fouche." 

"  All  despotism  and  all  justice  at  the  right  moments.     The 
true  king?  "  said  de  Marsay. 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN:  337 

"Ah!  vat  a  pleashre  it  is  to  dichest  vile  you  talk,"  said 
Baron  de  Nucingen. 

"  But  do  you  suppose  that  the  treat  we  are  giving  you  is  a 
common  one?"  asked  Joseph  Bridau.  "  If  you  had  to  pay 
for  the  charms  of  conversation  as  you  do  for  those  of  dancing 
or  of  music,  your  fortune  would  be  inadequate  !  There  is  no 
second  performance  of  the  same  flash  of  wit." 

"And  are  we  really  so  much  deteriorated  as  these  gentle- 
men think?"  said  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan,  addressing  the 
women  with  a  smile  at  once  skeptical  and  ironical.  "  Because, 
in  these  days,  under  a  regime  which  makes  everything  small, 
you  prefer  small  dishes,  small  rooms,  small  pictures,  small 
articles,  small  newspapers,  small  books,  does  that  prove  that 
women  too  have  grown  smaller?  Why  should  the  human 
heart  change  because  you  change  your  coat  ?  In  all  ages  the 
passions  will  remain  the  same.  I  know  cases  of  beautiful 
devotion,  of  sublime  sufferings,  which  lack  the  publicity — 
the  glory,  if  you  choose — which  formerly  gave  lustre  to  the 
errors  of  some  women.  But  though  one  may  not  have  saved 
a  King  of  France,  one  is  not  the  less  an  Agnes  Sorel.  Do 
you  believe  that  our  dear  Marquise  d'Espard  is  not  the  peer 
of  Madame  Doublet  or  Madame  du  Deffant,  in  whose  rooms 
so  much  evil  was  spoken  and  done  ?  Is  not  Taglioni  a  match 
for  Camargo  ?  or  Malibran  the  equal  of  Saint-Huberti  ?  Are 
not  our  poets  superior  to  those  of  the  eighteenth  century  ? 
If  at  this  moment,  through  the  fault  of  the  grocers  who  govern 
us,  we  have  not  a  style  of  our  own,  had  not  the  empire  its 
distinguishing  stamp  as  the  age  of  Louis  XV.  had,  and  was 
not  its  splendor  fabulous?  Have  the  sciences  lost  any- 
thing?" 

"  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,  madame  ;  the  women  of  this 
age  are  truly  great,"  replied  the  Comte  de  Vandenesse. 
"When  posterity  shall  have  followed  us,  will  not  Madame 
Recamier  appear  in  proportions  as  fine  as  those  of  the  most 
beautiful  women  of  the  past  ?  We  have  made  so  much  his- 
22 


338  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

tory  that  historians  will  be  lacking  !  The  age  of  Louis  XIV. 
had  but  one  Madame  de  Sevigne ;  we  have  a  thousand  now 
in  Paris  who  certainly  write  better  than  she  did,  and  who  do 
not  publish  their  letters.  Whether  the  Frenchwoman  be 
called  '  perfect  lady '  or  great  lady,  she  will  always  be  the 
woman  among  women. 

"  Emile  Blondet  has  given  us  a  picture  of  the  fascinations 
of  a  woman  of  the  day;  but,  at  need,  this  creature  who  bridles 
or  shows  off,  who  chirps  out  the  ideas  of  Mr.  This  and  Mr. 
That,  would  be  heroic.  And  it  must  be  said,  your  faults, 
mesdames,  are  all  the  more  poetical,  because  they  must  always, 
and  under  all  circumstances,  be  surrounded  by  greater  perils. 
I  have  seen  much  of  the  world,  I  have  studied  it  perhaps  too 
late ;  but  in  cases  where  the  illegality  of  your  feelings  might 
be  excused,  I  have  always  observed  the  effects  of  I  know  not 
what  chance — which  you  may  call  providence — inevitably 
overwhelming  such  as  we  consider  light  women." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Madame  de  Vandenesse,  "  that  we  can  be 
great  in  other  ways " 

"  Oh,  let  the  Comte  de  Vandenesse  preach  to  us  !  "  ex- 
claimed Madame  de  Serizy. 

"With  all  the  more  reason  because  he  has  preached  a  great 
deal  by  example,"  said  the  Baronne  de  Nucingen. 

"On  my  honor!  "  said  General  de  Montriveau,  "in  all 
the  dramas — a  word  you  are  very  fond  of,"  he  said,  looking 
at  Blondet — "  in  which  the  finger  of  God  has  been  visible, 
the  most  frightful  I  ever  knew  was  very  near  being  by  my 
act " 

"Well,  tell  us  all  about  it  !  "  cried  Lady  Barimore ;  "I 
love  to  shudder  !  " 

"It  is  the  taste  of  a  virtuous  woman,"  replied  de  Marsay, 
looking  at  Lord  Dudley's  lovely  daughter. 

"During  the  campaign  of  1812,"  General  de  Montriveau 
began,  "  I  was  the  involuntary  cause  of  a  terrible  disaster 
which  may  be  of  use  to  you,  Doctor  Bianchon,"  turning  to 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  339 

the  doctor,  "  since,  while  devoting  yourself  to  the  human  body, 
you  concern  yourself  a  good  deal  with  the  mind ;  it  may  tend 
to  solve  some  of  the  problems  of  the  will. 

"I  was  going  through  my  second  campaign;  I  enjoyed 
danger,  and  laughed  at  everything,  like  the  young  and  foolish 
lieutenant  of  artillery  that  I  was.  When  we  reached  the 
Beresina,  the  army  had,  as  you  know,  lost  all  discipline  and 
had  forgotten  military  obedience.  It  was  a  medley  of  men 
of  all  nations,  instinctively  making  their  way  from  north  to 
south.  The  soldiers  would  drive  a  general  in  rags  and  bare- 
foot away  from  their  fire  if  he  brought  neither  wood  nor  vic- 
tuals. After  the  passage  of  this  famous  river  disorder  did  not 
diminish.  I  had  come  quietly  and  alone,  without  food,  out 
of  the  marshes  of  Zembin,  and  was  wandering  in  search  of  a 
house  where  I  might  be  taken  in.  Finding  none,  or  driven 
away  from  those  I  came  across,  happily  toward  evening  I  per- 
ceived a  wretched  little  Polish  farm,  of  which  nothing  can 
give  you  any  idea  unless  you  have  seen  the  wooden  houses  of 
Lower  Normandy,  or  the  poorest  farm-buildings  of  la  Beauce. 
These  dwellings  consist  of  a  single  room,  with  one  end  divided 
off  by  a  wooden  partition,  the  smaller  division  serving  as  a 
storeroom  for  forage. 

"  In  the  darkness  of  twilight  I  could  just  see  a  faint  smoke 
rising  above  this  house.  Hoping  to  find  there  some  comrades 
more  compassionate  than  those  I  had  hitherto  addressed,  I 
boldly  walked  as  far  as  the  farm.  On  going  in,  I  found  the 
table  laid.  Several  officers,  and  with  them  a  woman — a  com- 
mon sight  enough — were  eating  potatoes,  some  horseflesh 
broiled  over  the  charcoal,  and  some  frozen  beet-roots.  I  rec- 
ognized among  the  company  two  or  three  artillery  captains 
of  the  regiment  in  which  I  had  first  served.  I  was  welcomed 
with  a  shout  of  acclamation,  which  would  have  amazed  me 
greatly  on  the  other  side  of  the  Beresina ;  but  at  this  moment 
the  cold  was  less  intense ;  my  fellow-officers  were  resting,  they 
were  warm,  they  had  food,  and  the  room,  strewn  with  trusses 


340  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

of  straw,  gave  the  promise  of  a  delightful  night.  We  did 
not  ask  for  so  much  in  those  days.  My  comrades  could  be 
philanthropists  gratis — one  of  the  commonest  ways  of  being 
philanthropic.  I  sat  down  to  eat  on  one  of  the  bundles  of 
straw. 

"  At  the  end  of  the  table,  by  the  side  of  the  door  opening 
into  the  smaller  room  full  of  straw  and  hay,  sat  my  old 
colonel,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  men  I  ever  saw  among 
all  the  mixed  collection  of  men  it  has  been  my  lot  to  meet. 
He  was  an  Italian.  Now,  whenever  human  nature  is  truly 
fine  in  the  lands  of  the  south,  it  is  really  sublime.  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  have  ever  observed  the  extreme  fairness  of 
Italians  when  they  are  fair.  It  is  exquisite,  especially  under 
an  artificial  light.  When  I  read  the  fantastical  portrait  of 
Colonel  Oudet  sketched  by  Charles  Nodier,  I  found  my  own 
sensations  in  every  one  of  his  elegant  phrases.  Italian,  then, 
as  were  most  of  the  officers  of  his  regiment,  which  had,  in 
fact,  been  borrowed  by  the  Emperor  from  Eugene's  army, 
my  colonel  was  a  tall  man,  at  least  eight  or  nine  inches  above 
the  standard,  and  admirably  proportioned — a  little  stout  per- 
haps, but  prodigiously  powerful,  active,  and  clean-limbed  as  a 
grayhound.  His  black  hair  in  abundant  curls  showed  up  his 
complexion,  as  white  as  a  woman's  ;  he  had  small  hands,  a 
shapely  foot,  a  pleasant  mouth,  and  an  aquiline  nose  delicately 
formed,  of  which  the  tip  used  to  become  naturally  pinched 
and  white  whenever  he  was  angry,  as  happened  often.  His 
irascibility  was  so  far  beyond  belief  that  I  will  tell  you  nothing 
about  it ;  you  will  have  the  opportunity  of  judging  of  it.  No 
one  could  be  calm  in  his  presence.  I  alone,  perhaps,  was  not 
afraid  of  him ;  he  had  indeed  taken  such  a  singular  fancy  to 
me  that  he  thought  everything  I  did  right.  When  he  was  in 
a  rage  his  brow  was  knit  and  the  muscles  of  the  middle  of  his 
forehead  set  in  a  delta,  or,  to  be  more  explicit,  in  Redgaunt- 
let's  horseshoe.  This  mark  was,  perhaps,  even  more  terrify- 
ing than  the  magnetic  flashes  of  his  blue  eyes.  His  whole 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WO  MAX.  341 

frame  quivered,  and  his  strength,  great  as  it  was  in  his  normal 
state,  became  almost  unbounded. 

"  He  spoke  with  a  strong  guttural  roll.  His  voice,  at  least 
as  powerful  as  that  of  Charles  Nodier's  Oudet,  threw  an  in- 
credible fullness  of  tone  into  the  syllable  or  the  consonant  in 
which  this  burr  was  sounded.  Though  this  faulty  pronuncia- 
tion was  at  times  a  grace,  when  commanding  his  men  or 
when  he  was  excited,  you  cannot  imagine,  unless  you  had 
heard  it,  what  force  was  expressed  by  this  accent,  which  at 
Paris  is  so  common.  When  the  colonel  was  quiescent,  his 
blue  eyes  were  sweetly  angelic,  and  his  smooth  brow  had  a 
most  charming  expression.  On  parade  or  with  the  army  of 
Italy,  not  a  man  could  compare  with  him.  Indeed,  d'Orsay 
himself,  the  handsome  d'Orsay,  was  eclipsed  by  our  colonel 
on  the  occasion  of  the  last  review  held  by  Napoleon  before 
the  invasion  of  Russia. 

"  Everything  was  in  contrasts  in  this  exceptional  man. 
Passion  lives  on  contrast.  Hence  you  need  not  ask  whether 
he  exerted  over  women  the  irresistible  influences  to  which  our 
nature  yields  " — and  the  general  looked  at  the  Princesse  de 
Cadignan — "  as  vitreous  matter  is  moulded  under  the  pipe  of 
the  glassblower;  still,  by  a  singular  fatality — an  observer 
might  perhaps  explain  the  phenomenon — the  colonel  was  not 
a  lady-killer,  or  was  indifferent  to  such  successes. 

"  To  give  you  an  idea  of  his  violence,  I  will  tell  you  in  a 
few  words  what  I  once  saw  him  do  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury : 
We  were  dragging  our  guns  up  a  very  narrow  road,  bordered 
by  a  somewhat  high  slope  on  one  side  and  by  thickets  on  the 
other.  When  we  were  half-way  up  we  met  another  regiment 
of  artillery,  its  colonel  marching  at  the  head.  This  colonel 
wanted  to  make  the  captain  who  was  at  the  head  of  our  fore- 
most battery  back  down  again.  The  captain,  of  course,  re- 
fused ;  but  the  colonel  of  the  other  regiment  signed  to  his 
foremost  battery  to  advance,  and,  in  spite  of  the  care  the 
driver  took  to  keep  among  the  scrub,  the  wheel  of  the  first 


342  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

gun  struck  our  captain's  right  leg  and  broke  it,  throwing  him 
over  on  the  near -side  of  his  horse.  All  this  was  the  work  of 
a  moment.  Our  colonel,  who  was  but  a  little  way  off,  guessed 
that  there  was  a  quarrel ;  he  galloped  up,  riding  among  the 
guns  at  the  risk  of  falling  with  his  horse's  four  feet  in  the 
air,  and  reached  the  spot,  face  to  face  with  the  other  colonel, 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  captain  fell,  calling  out 
'  Help  !  '  No,  our  Italian  colonel  was  no  longer  human  ! 
Foam  like  the  froth  of  champagne  rose  to  his  lips  ;  he  roared 
inarticulately  like  a  lion.  Incapable  of  uttering  a  word,  or 
even  a  cry,  he  made  a  terrific  signal  to  his  antagonist,  point- 
ing to  the  wood  and  drawing  his  sword.  The  two  colonels 
went  aside.  In  two  seconds  we  saw  our  colonel's  opponent 
stretched  on  the  ground,  his  skull  split  in  two.  The  soldiers 
of  his  regiment  backed — yes,  by  heaven,  and  pretty  quickly 
too  ! 

"  The  captain,  who  had  been  so  nearly  crushed,  and  who 
lay  yelping  in  the  puddle  where  the  gun  carriage  had  thrown 
him,  had  an  Italian  wife,  a  beautiful  Sicilian  of  Messina,  who 
was  not  indifferent  to  our  colonel.  This  circumstance  had 
aggravated  his  rage.  He  was  pledged  to  protect  the  husband, 
bound  to  defend  him  as  he  would  have  defended  the  woman 
herself. 

"  Now,  in  the  hovel  beyond  Zembin,  where  I  was  so  well 
received,  this  captain  was  sitting  opposite  to  me,  and  his  wife 
was  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  facing  the  colonel.  This 
Sicilian  was  a  little  woman  named  Rosina,  very  dark,  but 
with  all  the  fire  of  the  southern  sun  in  her  black  almond- 
shaped  eyes.  At  this  moment  she  was  deplorably  thin ;  her 
face  was  covered  with  dust,  like  fruit  exposed  to  the  drought 
of  a  high-road.  Scarcely  clothed  in  rags,  exhausted  by 
marches,  her  hair  in  disorder,  and  clinging  together  under  a 
piece  of  a  shawl  tied  close  over  her  head,  still  she  had  the 
graces  of  a  woman  ;  her  movements  were  engaging,  her  small 
rosy  mouth  and  white  teeth,  the  outline  of  her  features  and 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  343 

figure,  charms  which  misery,  cold,  and  neglect  had  not  alto- 
gether defaced,  still  suggested  love  to  any  man  who  could 
think  of  a  woman.  Rosina  had  one  of  those  frames  which 
are  fragile  in  appearance,  but  wiry  and  full  of  spring.  Her 
husband,  a  gentleman  of  Piedmont,  had  a  face  expressive  of 
ironical  simplicity,  if  it  is  allowable  to  ally  the  two  words. 
Brave  and  well  informed,  he  seemed  to  know  nothing  of  the 
connection  which  had  subsisted  between  his  wife  and  the 
colonel  for  three  years  past.  I  ascribed  this  unconcern  to 
Italian  manners,  or  to  some  domestic  secret ;  yet  there  was  in 
the  man's  countenance  one  feature  which  always  filled  me 
with  involuntary  distrust.  His  under  lip,  which  was  thin  and 
very  restless,  turned  down  at  the  corners  instead  of  turning 
up,  and  this,  as  I  thought,  betrayed  a  streak  of  cruelty  in  a 
character  which  seemed  so  phlegmatic  and  indolent. 

"  As  you  may  suppose,  the  conversation  was  not  very  spark- 
ling when  I  went  in.  My  weary  comrades  ate  in  silence;  of 
course,  they  asked  me  some  questions,  and  we  related  our 
misadventures,  mingled  with  reflections  on  the  campaign,  the 
generals,  their  mistakes,  the  Russians,  and  the  cold.  A  min- 
ute after  my  arrival  the  colonel,  having  finished  his  meagre 
meal,  wiped  his  mustache,  bade  us  good-night,  shot  -a  black 
look  at  the  Italian  woman,  saying,  'Rosina?'  and  then,  with- 
out waiting  for  a  reply,  went  into  the  little  barn  full  of  hay 
to  bed.  The  meaning  of  the  colonel's  utterance  was  self- 
evident.  The  young  wife  replied  by  an  indescribable  gesture, 
expressing  all  the  annoyance  she  could  not  but  feel  at  seeing 
her  thraldom  thus  flaunted  without  human  decency,  and  the 
offense  to  her  dignity  as  a  woman  and  to  her  husband.  But 
there  was,  too,  in  the  rigid  setting  of  her  features  and  the 
tight  knitting  of  her  brows  a  sort  of  presentiment ;  perhaps 
she  foresaw  her  fate.  Rosina  remained  quietly  in  her  place. 

"A  minute  later,  and  apparently  when  the  colonel  was 
snug  in  his  couch  of  straw  or  hay,  he  repeated,  ' Rosina?' 

"  The  tone  of  this  second  call  was  even   more   brutally 


344  ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

questioning  than  the  first.  The  colonel's  strong  burr,  and  the 
length  which  the  Italian  language  allows  to  be  given  to  vow- 
els and  the  final  syllable,  concentrated  all  the  man's  despotism, 
impatience,  and  strength  of  will.  Rosina  turned  pale,  but  she 
rose,  passed  behind  us,  and  went  to  the  colonel. 

"All  the  party  sat  in  utter  silence;  I,  unluckily  after  look- 
ing at  them  all,  began  to  laugh,  and  then  they  all  laughed 
too.  'Tu  ridi? — you  laugh?'  said  the  husband. 

"  '  On  my  honor,  old  comrade,'  said  I,  becoming  serious 
again,  '  I  confess  that  I  was  wrong ;  I  ask  your  pardon  a 
thousand  times,  and  if  you  are  not  satisfied  by  my  apologies  I 
am  ready  to  give  you  satisfaction.' 

"  '  Oh  !  it  is  not  you  who  are  wrong,  it  is  I !  '  he  replied 
coldly. 

"Thereupon  we  all  lay  down  in  the  room  and  before  long 
all  were  sound  asleep. 

"  Next  morning  each  one,  without  rousing  his  neighbor  or 
seeking  companionship,  set  out  again  on  his  way,  with  that 
selfishness  which  made  our  rout  one  of  the  most  horrible 
dramas  of  self-seeking,  melancholy,  and  horror  which  ever 
was  enacted  under  heaven.  Nevertheless,  at  about  seven  or 
eight  hundred  paces  from  our  shelter  we,  most  of  us,  met 
again  and  walked  on  together,  like  geese  led  in  flocks  by  a 
child's  willful  tyranny.  The  same  necessity  urged  us  all. 

"  Having  Reached  a  knoll  whence  we  could  still  see  the  farm- 
house where  we  had  spent  the  night,  we  heard  sounds  resem- 
bling the  roar  of  lions  in  the  desert,  the  bellowing  of  bulls — 
no,  it  was  a  noise  which  can  be  compared  to  no  known  cry. 
And  yet,  mingling  with  this  horrible  and  ominous  roar,  we 
could  hear  a  woman's  feeble  scream.  We  all  looked  round, 
seized  by  I  know  not  what  impulse  of  terror ;  we  no  longer 
saw  the  house,  but  a  huge  bonfire.  The  farmhouse  had  been 
barricaded,  and  was  in  flames.  Swirls  of  smoke  borne  on  the 
wind  brought  us  hoarse  cries  and  an  indescribable  pungent 
smell.  A  few  yards  behind  the  captain  was  quietly  approach- 


ANOTHER   STUDY  OF   WOMAtf.  345 

ing  to  join  our  caravan  ;  we  gazed  at  him  in  silence,  for  no 
one  dared  question  him ;  but  he,  understanding  our  curiosity, 
pointed  to  his  breast  with  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand, 
and,  waving  the  left  in  the  direction  of  the  fire,  he  said, 
'Son' to.' 

"  We  all  walked  on  without  saying  a  word  to  him." 

"  There  is  nothing  more  terrible  than  the  revolt  of  a 
sheep,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"  It  would  be  frightful  to  let  us  leave  with  this  horrible 
picture  in  our  memory,"  said  Madame  de  Montcornet.  "I 
shall  dream  of  it " 

"And  what  was  the  punishment  of  Monsieur  de  Marsay's 
'First?'  "  asked  Lord  Dudley,  smiling. 

"When  the  English  are  in  jest,  their  foils  have  the  buttons 
on,"  said  Blondet. 

"Monsieur  Bianchon  can  tell  us,  for  he  saw  her  dying," 
replied  de  Marsay,  turning  to  me. 

"Yes,"  said  Bianchon,  "her  end  was  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful I  ever  saw.  The  Duke  and  I  spent  the  night  by  the  dying 
woman's  pillow;  pulmonary  consumption,  in  the  last  stage, 
left  no  hope  ;  she  had  taken  the  sacrament  the  day  before. 
The  Duke  had  fallen  asleep.  The  Duchess,  waking  at  about 
four  in  the  morning,  signed  to  me  in  the  most  touching  way, 
with  a  friendly  smile,  to  bid  me  leave  him  to  rest,  and  she 
meanwhile  was  about  to  die.  She  had  become  incredibly 
thin,  but  her  face  had  preserved  its  really  sublime  outline  and 
features.  Her  pallor  made  her  skin  look  like  porcelain  with 
a  light  within.  Her  bright  eyes  and  color  contrasted  with 
this  languidly  elegant  complexion,  and  her  countenance  was 
full  of  impressive  calm.  She  seemed  to  pity  the  Duke,  and 
the  feeling  had  its  origin  in  a  lofty  tenderness  which,  as  death 
approached,  seemed  to  know  no  bounds.  The  silence  was 
absolute.  The  room,  softly  lighted  by  a  lamp,  looked  like 
every  sick-room  at  the  hour  of  death. 

"  At  this  moment  the  clock  struck.     The  Duke  awoke,  and 


346  ANOTHER  STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

was  in  despair  at  having  fallen  asleep.  I  did  not  see  the  gesture 
of  impatience  by  which  he  manifested  the  regret  he  felt  at  hav- 
ing lost  sight  of  his  wife  for  a  few  of  the  last  minutes  vouch- 
safed to  him ;  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  any  one  but  the  dying 
woman  might  have  misunderstood  it.  A  busy  statesman, 
always  thinking  of  the  interests  of  France,  the  Duke  had  a 
thousand- odd  ways  on  the  surface,  such  as  often  lead  to  a  man 
of  genius  being  mistaken  for  a  madman,  and  of  which  the 
explanation  lies  in  the  exquisiteness  and  exacting  needs  of 
their  intellect.  He  came  to  seat  himself  in  an  armchair  by 
his  wife's  side,  and  looked  fixedly  at  her.  The  dying  woman 
put  her  hand  out  a  little  way,  took  her  husband's  and  clasped 
it  feebly ;  and  in  a  low  but  agitated  voice  she  said,  '  My  poor 
dear,  who  is  left  to  understand  you  now  ?  '  Then  she  died, 
looking  at  him." 

"The  stories  the  doctor  tells  us,"  said  the  Comte  de  Van- 
denesse,  "always  leave  a  deep  impression." 

"  But  a  sweet  one,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  as  she 
arose. 

PARIS,  June,  1839-42. 


THE  GREAT  BRETECHE. 

(Sequel  to  "Another  Study  of  Woman."} 

Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

"An!  madame,"  replied  the  doctor,  "I  have  some  ap- 
palling stories  in  my  collection.  But  each  one  has  its  proper 
hour  in  a  conversation — you  know  the  pretty  jest  recorded 
by  Chamfort,  and  said  to  the  Due  de  Fronsac:  'Between 
your  sally  and  the  present  moment  lie  ten  bottles  of  cham- 
pagne.' " 

"  But  it  is  two  in  the  morning,  and  the  story  of  Rosina  has 
prepared  us,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"Tell  us,  Monsieur  Bianchon,"  was  the  cry  on  every  side. 

The  obliging  doctor  bowed,  and  silence  reigned. 

"  At  about  a  hundred  paces  from  Vendome,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Loire,"  said  he,  "stands  an  old  brown  house,  crowned 
with  very  high  roofs,  and  so  completely  isolated  that  there  is 
nothing  near  it,  not  even  a  fetid  tannery  or  a  squalid  tavern, 
such  as  are  commonly  seen  outside  small  towns.  In  front  of 
this  house  is  a  garden  down  to  the  river,  where  the  box-shrubs, 
formerly  clipped  close  to  the  edge  of  the  walks,  now  straggle 
at  their  own  will.  A  few  willows,  rooted  in  the  stream,  have 
grown  up  quickly  like  an  enclosing  fence  and  half-hide  the 
house.  The  wild  plants  we  call  weeds  have  clothed  the  bank 
with  their  beautiful  luxuriance.  The  fruit  trees,  neglected 
for  these  ten  years  past,  no  longer  bear  a  crop,  and  their 
suckers  have  formed  a  thicket.  The  espaliers  are  like  a  copse. 
The  paths,  once  graveled,  are  overgrown  with  purslane ;  but, 
to  be  accurate,  there  is  no  trace  of  a  path. 

"  Looking  down  from  the  hill-top,  to  which  cling  the  ruins 
of  the  old  castle  of  the  Dukes  of  Vendome,  the  only  spot 

(347) 


348  THE    GREAT  BRETECHE. 

whence  the  eye  can  see  into  this  enclosure,  we  think  that  at  a 
time,  difficult  now  to  determine,  this  spot  of  earth  must  have 
been  the  joy  of  some  country  gentleman  devoted  to  roses  and 
tulips — in  a  word,  to  horticulture — but,  above  all,  a  lover  of 
choice  fruit.  An  arbor  is  visible,  or  rather  the  wreck  of  an 
arbor,  and  under  it  a  table  still  stands  not  entirely  destroyed 
by  time.  At  the  aspect  of  this  garden  that  is  no  more,  the 
negative  joys  of  the  peaceful  life  of  the  provinces  may  be 
divined  as  we  divine  the  history  of  a  worthy  tradesman  when 
we  read  the  epitaph  on  his  tomb.  To  complete  the  mournful 
and  tender  impressions  which  seize  the  soul,  on  one  of  the 
walls  is  a  sundial  graced  with  this  homely  Christian  motto, 
'Ulttmam  cogitaS 

"  The  roof  of  this  house  is  dreadfully  dilapidated  ;  the  out- 
side shutters  are  always  closed  ;  the  balconies  are  hung  with 
swallows'  nests ;  the  doors  are  for  ever  shut.  Straggling 
grasses  have  outlined  the  flagstones  of  the  steps  with  green  ; 
the  ironwork  is  rusty.  Moon  and  sun,  winter,  summer,  and 
snow  have  eaten  into  the  wood,  warped  the  boards,  peeled 
off  the  paint.  The  dreary  silence  is  broken  only  by  birds 
and  cats,  polecats,  rats,  and  mice,  free  to  scamper  around, 
and  fight,  and  eat  each  other.  An  invisible  hand  has  written 
over  it  all :  '  Mystery.' 

"  If,  prompted  by  curiosity,  you  go  to  look  at  this  house 
from  the  street,  you  will  see  a  large  gate,  with  a  round-arched 
top;  the  children  have  made  many  holes  in  it.  I  learned 
later  that  this  door  had  been  blocked  for  ten  years.  Through 
these  irregular  breaches  you  will  see  that  the  side  toward  the 
courtyard  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  side  toward  the 
garden.  The  same  ruin  prevails.  Tufts  of  weeds  outline 
the  paving  stones ;  the  walls  are  scored  by  enormous  cracks, 
and  the  blackened  coping  is  laced  with  a  thousand  festoons  of 
pellitory.  The  stone  steps  are  disjointed  ;  the  bell-cord  is 
rotten  ;  the  gutter-spouts  broken.  What  fire  from  heaven  can 
have  fallen  there  ?  By  what  decree  has  salt  been  sown  on  this 


THE    GREAT  BRETECHE.  349 

dwelling  ?  Has  God  been  mocked  here  ?  Or  was  France 
betrayed  ?  These  are  the  questions  we  ask  ourselves.  Rep- 
tiles crawl  over  it,  but  give  no  reply.  This  empty  and  de- 
serted house  is  a  vast  enigma  of  which  the  answer  is  known 
to  none. 

"  It  was  formerly  a  little  domain,  held  in  fief,  and  is  known 
as  La  Grande  BretSche.  During  my  stay  at  Vendome,  where 
Despleins  had  left  me  in  charge  of  a  rich  patient,  the  sight 
of  this  strange  dwelling  became  one  of  my  keenest  pleasures. 
Was  it  not  far  better  than  a  ruin  ?  Certain  memories  of  in- 
disputable authenticity  attach  themselves  to  a  ruin  ;  but  this 
house,  still  standing,  though  being  slowly  destroyed  by  an 
avenging  hand,  contained  a  secret,  an  unrevealed  thought. 
At  the  very  least  it  testified  to  a  caprice.  More  than  once 
in  the  evening  I  boarded  the  hedge,  run  wild,  which  sur- 
rounded the  enclosure.  I  braved  scratches,  I  got  into  this 
ownerless  garden,  this  plot  which  was  no  longer  public  or 
private  ;  I  lingered  there  for  hours  gazing  at  the  disorder.  I 
would  not,  as  the  price  of  the  story  to  which  this  strange 
scene  no  doubt  was  due,  have  asked  a  single  question  of  any 
gossiping  native.  On  that  spot  I  wove  delightful  romances, 
and  abandoned  myself  to  little  debauches  of  melancholy  which 
enchanted  me.  If  I  had  known  the  reason — perhaps  quite 
commonplace — of  this  neglect,  I  should  have  lost  the  unwrit- 
ten poetry  which  intoxicated  me.  To  me  this  refuge  repre- 
sented the  most  various  phases  of  human  life,  shadowed  by 
misfortune ;  sometimes  the  calm  of  a  cloister  without  the 
monks ;  sometimes  the  peace  of  the  graveyard  without  the 
dead,  who  speak  in  the  language  of  epitaphs  ;  one  day  I  saw 
in  it  the  home  of  lepers  ;  another,  the  house  of  the  Atridae  ; 
but,  above  all,  I  found  there  provincial  life,  with  its  contem- 
plative ideas,  its  hour-glass  existence.  I  often  wept  there ;  I 
never  laughed. 

"  More  than  once  I  felt  involuntary  terrors  as  I  heard  over- 
head the  dull  hum  of  the  wings  of  some  hurrying  wood- 


350  THE   GREAT  BRETECHE. 

pigeon.  The  earth  is  dank ;  you  must  be  on  the  watch  for 
lizards,  vipers,  and  frogs,  wandering  about  with  the  wild 
freedom  of  nature ;  above  all,  you  must  have  no  fear  of  cold, 
for  in  a  few  minutes  you  feel  an  icy  cloak  settle  on  your 
shoulders,  like  the  commendatore's  hand  on  Don  Giovanni's 
neck. 

"  One  evening  I  felt  a  shudder;  the  wind  had  turned  an 
old  rusty  weathercock,  and  the  creaking  sounded  like  a  cry 
from  the  house,  at  the  very  moment  when  I  was  finishing  a 
gloomy  drama  to  account  for  this  monumental  embodiment  of 
woe.  I  returned  to  my  inn,  lost  in  gloomy  thoughts.  When 
I  had  supped,  the  hostess  came  in  to  my  room  with  an  air  of 
mystery,  and,  apologetically,  said,  '  Monsieur,  here  is  Mon- 
sieur Regnault.' 

"  '  Who  is  Monsieur  Regnault  ?  ' 

"  '  What,  sir,  do  you  not  know  Monsieur  Regnault  ?  Well, 
that's  odd,'  said  she,  leaving  the  room. 

"On  a  sudden  I  saw  a  man  appear,  tall,  slim,  dressed  in 
black,  hat  in  hand,  who  came  in  like  a  ram  ready  to  butt  his 
opponent,  showing  a  receding  forehead,  a  small  pointed  head, 
and  a  colorless  face  of  the  hue  of  a  glass  of  dirty  water.  You 
would  have  taken  him  for  an  usher.  The  stranger  wore  an 
old  coat,  much  worn  at  the  seams ;  but  he  had  a  diamond  in 
his  shirt  frill  and  gold  rings  in  his  ears. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  said  I,  'whom  have  I  the  honor  of  address- 
ing?' He  took  a  chair,  placed  himself  in  front  of  my  fire, 
put  his  hat  on  my  table,  and  answered  while  he  rubbed  his 
hands :  '  Dear  me,  it  is  very  cold.  Monsieur,  I  am  Mon- 
sieur Regnault.' 

"I  was  encouraging  myself  by  saying  to  myself,  'Here 
good  dog  !  Seek  ! ' 

"  'I  am,'  he  went  on,  '  notary  at  Vendome.' 

"'I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,  monsieur,'  I  exclaimed. 
'  But  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  make  a  will  for  reasons  best 
known  to  myself.' 


THE    GREAT  BRETECHE.  351 

"  '  One  moment  !  '  said  he,  holding  up  his  hand  as  though 
to  gain  silence.  '  Allow  me,  monsieur,  allow  me !  I  am  in- 
formed that  you  sometimes  go  to  walk  in  the  garden  of  La 
Grande  Breteche.' 

"  '  Yes,  monsieur.' 

"  '  One  moment !  '  said  he,  repeating  his  gesture.  '  That 
constitutes  a  misdemeanor.  Monsieur,  as  executor  under  the 
will  of  the  late  Comtesse  de  Merret,  I  come  in  her  name  to 
beg  you  to  discontinue  the  practice.  One  moment !  I  am  not 
a  Turk,  and  do  not  wish  to  make  a  crime  of  it.  And,  be- 
side, yoi*  are  free  to  be  ignorant  of  the  circumstances  which 
compel  me  to  leave  the  finest  mansion  in  Vendome  to  fall 
into  ruin.  Nevertheless,  monsieur,  you  must  be  a  man  of 
education,  and  you  should  know  that  the  laws  forbid,  under 
heavy  penalties,  any  trespass  on  enclosed  property.  A  hedge 
is  the  same  as  a  wall.  But  the  state  in  which  the  place  is 
left  may  be  an  excuse  for  your  curiosity.  For  my  part,  I 
should  be  quite  content  to  make  you  free  to  come  and  go  in 
the  house  ;  but  being  bound  to  respect  the  will  of  the  testa- 
trix, I  have  the  honor,  monsieur,  to  beg  that  you  will  go  into 
the  garden  no  more.  I  myself,  monsieur,  since  the  will  was 
read,  have  never  set  foot  in  the  house,  which,  as  I  had  the 
honor  of  informing  you,  is  part  of  the  estate  of  the  late 
Madame  de  Merret.  We  have  done  nothing  there  but  verify 
the  number  of  doors  and  windows  to  assess  the  taxes  I  have 
to  pay  annually  out  of  the  funds  left  for  that  purpose  by  the 
late  Madame  de  Merret.  Ah  !  my  dear  sir,  her  will  made  a 
great  commotion  in  the  town.' 

"  The  good  man  paused  to  blow  his  nose.  I  respected 
his  volubility,  perfectly  understanding  that  the  administration 
of  Madame  de  Merret's  estate  had  been  the  most  important 
event  of  his  life,  his  reputation,  his  glory,  his  restoration.  As 
I  was  forced  to  bid  farewell  to  my  beautiful  reveries  and 
romances,  I  was  to  reject  learning  the  truth  on  official 
authority. 


352  THE    GREAT  BRETECHE. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  said  I,  '  would  it  be  indiscreet  if  I  were  to 
ask  you  the  reasons  for  such  eccentricity  ? ' 

"At  these  words  an  expression,  which  revealed  all  the  pleas- 
ure which  men  feel  who  are  accustomed  to  ride  a  hobby,  over- 
spread the  lawyer's  countenance.  He  pulled  up  the  collar  of 
his  shirt  with  an  air,  took  out  his  snuff-box,  opened  it  and 
offered  me  a  pinch ;  on  my  refusing,  he  took  a  large  one.  He 
was  happy  !  A  man  who  has  no  hobby  does  not  know  all  the 
good  to  be  gotten  out  of  life.  A  hobby  is  the  happy  medium 
between  a  passion  and  a  monomania.  At  this  very  moment 
I  understood  the  whole  bearing  of  Sterne's  charming  passion, 
and  had  a  perfect  idea  of  the  delight  with  which  my  Uncle 
Toby,  encouraged  by  Trim,  bestrode  his  hobby-horse. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  said  Monsieur  Regnault,  '  I  was  the  head 
clerk  in  Monsieur  Roguin's  law  office,  in  Paris.  A  first-rate 
house,  which  you,  perhaps,  have  heard  mentioned  ?  No  !  An 
unfortunate  bankruptcy  made  it  famous.  Not  having  money 
enough  to  purchase  a  practice  in  Paris  at  the  price  to  which 
they  were  run  up  in  1816,  I  came  here  and  bought  my  prede- 
cessor's business.  I  had  relations  in  Vendome  ;  among  others, 
a  wealthy  aunt,  who  allowed  me  to  marry  her  daughter.  Mon- 
sieur,' he  went  on  after  a  little  pause,  '  three  months  after 
being  licensed  by  the  keeper  of  the  seals,  one  evening,  as  I 
was  going  to  bed — it  was  before  my  marriage — I  was  sent  for 
by  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Merret,  to  her  chateau  of  Merret. 
Her  maid,  a  good  girl,  who  is  now  a  servant  in  this  inn,  was 
waiting  at  my  door  with  the  Countess'  own  carriage.  Ah  ! 
one  moment !  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  Monsieur  le  Comte  de 
Merret  had  gone  to  Paris  to  die  two  months  before  I  came 
here.  He  came  to  a  miserable  end,  flinging  himself  into 
every  kind  of  dissipation.  You  understand? 

"  '  On  the  day  when  he  left,  Madame  la  Comtesse  had 
quitted  La  Grande  Bret&che,  having  dismantled  it.  Some 
people  even  say  that  she  had  burnt  all  the  furniture,  the 
hangings — in  short,  all  the  chattels  and  furniture  whatever 


THE    GREAT  BRETECHE.  353 

used  in  furnishing  the  premises  now  let  by  the  said  M.  (Dear  ! 
what  am  I  saying?  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  thought  I  was  dictat- 
ing a  lease.)  In  short,  that  she  burnt  everything  in  the 
meadow  at  Merret.  Have  you  been  to  Merret,  monsieur? 
No,'  said  he,  answering  himself.  '  Ah,  indeed,  it  is  a  very 
fine  place. 

"  '  For  about  three  months  previously,'  he  went  on,  with  a 
jerk  of  his  head,  '  the  Count  and  Countess  had  lived  in  a 
very  eccentric  way  ;  they  admitted  no  visitors ;  madame  lived 
on  the  first  floor  and  monsieur  on  the  second  floor.  When 
the  Countess  was  left  alone,  she  was  never  seen  excepting  at 
church.  Subsequently,  at  home,  at  the  chateau,  she  refused 
to  see  the  friends,  whether  gentlemen  or  ladies,  who  went  to 
call  on  her.  She  was  already  very  much  altered  when  she 
left  La  Grande  Breteche  to- go  to  Merret.  That  dear  lady — I 
say  dear  lady,  for  it  was  she  who  gave  me  this  diamond,  but 
indeed  I  saw  her  but  once — that  kind  lady  was  very  ill ;  she 
had,  no  doubt,  given  up  all  hope,  for  she  died  without  choos- 
ing to  send  for  a  doctor  ;  indeed,  many  of  our  ladies  fancied 
she  was  not  quite  right  in  her  head.  Well,  sir,  my  curiosity 
was  strangely  excited  by  hearing  that  Madame  de  Merret  had 
need  of  my  services.  Nor  was  I  the  only  person  who  took  an 
interest  in  the  affair.  That  very  night,  though  it  was  already 
late,  all  the  town  knew  that  I  was  going  to  Merret. 

"  '  The  waiting-woman  replied  but  vaguely  to  the  questions 
I  asked  her  on  the  way ;  nevertheless,  she  told  me  that  her 
mistress  had  received  the  sacrament  in  the  course  of  the  day 
at  the  hands  of  the  cure  of  Merret,  and  seemed  unlikely  to 
live  through  the  night.  It  was  about  eleven  when  I  reached 
the  chateau.  I  went  up  the  great  staircase.  After  crossing 
some  large,  lofty,  dark  rooms,  diabolically  cold  and  damp,  I 
reached  the  state  bedroom  where  the  Countess  lay.  From 
the  rumors  that  were  current  concerning  this  lady  (monsieur, 
I  should  never  end  if  I  were  to  repeat  all  the  tales  that  were 
told  about  her),  I  had  imagined  her  a  coquette.  Imagine, 
23 


354  THE   GREAT  BRETECHE. 

then,  that  I  had  great  difficulty  in  seeing  her  in  the  great  bed 
whereon  she  was  lying.  To  be  sure,  to  light  this  enormous 
room,  with  old-fashioned  heavy  cornices  and  so  thick  with 
dust  that  merely  to  see  it  was  enough  to  make  you  sneeze,  she 
had  only  an  old  argand  lamp.  Ah  !  but  you  have  not  been 
to  Merret.  Well,  the  bed  is  one  of  those  old-world  beds,  with 
a  high  tester  hung  with  flowered  chintz.  A  small  table  stood 
by  the  bed,  on  which  I  saw  an  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  which, 
by  the  way,  I  bought  for  my  wife,  as  well  as  the  lamp.  There 
were  also  a  deep  armchair  for  her  confidential  maid,  and  two 
small  chairs.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  large  old-fashioned 
grate.  That  was  all  the  furniture ;  not  enough  to  fill  ten  lines 
in  an  inventory. 

" '  My  dear  sir,  if  you  had  seen,  as  I  then  saw,  that  vast 
room,  papered  and  hung  with  brown,  you  would  have  felt 
yourself  transported  into  a  scene  of  a  romance.  It  was  icy ; 
nay  more,  funereal,'  and  he  lifted  his  hand  with  a  theatrical 
gesture  and  paused. 

"  '  By  dint  of  seeking,  as  I  approached  the  bed,  at  last  I 
saw  Madame  de  Merret,  under  the  glimmer  of  the  lamp,  which 
fell  on  the  pillows.  Her  face  was  as  yellow  as  wax  and  as 
narrow  as  two  folded  hands.  The  Countess  had  a  lace  cap 
showing  abundant  hair,  but  as  white  as  linen  thread.  She 
was  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  seemed  to  keep  upright  with  great 
difficulty.  Her  large  black  eyes,  dimmed  by  fever,  no  doubt, 
and  half-dead  already,  hardly  moved  under  the  bony  arch  of 
her  eyebrows.  There,'  he  added,  pointing  to  his  own  brow. 
'  Her  forehead  was  clammy ;  her  fleshless  hands  were  like 
bones  covered  with  soft  skin  ;  the  veins  and  muscles  were 
perfectly  visible.  She  must  have  been  very  handsome ;  but 
at  this  moment  I  was  startled  into  an  indescribable  emotion 
at  the  sight.  Never,  said  those  who  wrapped  her  in  her 
shroud,  had  any  living  creature  been  so  emaciated  and  lived. 
In  short,  it  was  awful  to  behold  !  Sickness  had  so  consumed 
that  woman  that  she  was  no  more  than  a  phantom.  Her 


THE   GREAT  BRETECHE.  365 

lips,  which  were  pale  violet,  seemed  to  me  not  to  move  when 
she  spoke  to  me. 

"'Though  my  profession  has  familiarized  me  with  such 
spectacles,  by  calling  me  not  unfrequently  to  the  bedside  of 
the  dying  to  record  their  last  wishes,  I  confess  that  families 
in  tears  and  the  agonies  I  have  seen  were  as  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  this  lonely  and  silent  woman  in  her  vast  chateau. 
I  heard  not  the  least  sound,  I  did  not  perceive  the  movement 
which  the  sufferer's  breathing  ought  to  have  given  to  the 
sheets  that  covered  her,  and  I  stood  motionless,  absorbed  in 
looking  at  her  in  a  sort  of  stupor.  In  fancy  I  am  there  still. 
At  last  her  large  eyes  moved ;  she  tried  to  raise  her  right 
hand,  but  it  fell  back  on  the  bed,  and  she  uttered  these  words, 
which  came  like  a  breath,  for  her  voice  was  no  longer  a  voice : 
"I  have  waited  for  you  with  the  greatest  impatience."  A 
bright  flush  rose  to  her  cheeks.  It  was  a  great  effort  to  her 
to  speak. 

"  '  "  Madame,"  I  began.  She  signed  to  me  to  be  silent. 
At  that  moment  the  old  housekeeper  arose  and  said  in  my  ear, 
"  Do  not  speak ;  Madame  la  Comtesse  is  not  in  a  state  to  bear 
the  slightest  noise,  and  what  you  would  say  might  agitate  her." 

"  '  I  sat  down.  A  few  instants  after,  Madame  de  Merret 
collected  all  her  remaining  strength  to  move  her  right  hand 
and  slipped  it,  not  without  infinite  difficulty,  under  the 
bolster ;  she  then  paused  a  moment.  With  a  last  effort,  she 
withdrew  her  hand,  and,  when  she  brought  out  a  sealed  paper, 
drops  of  perspiration  rolled  from  her  brow.  "  I  place  my  will 
in  your  hands.  Oh!  God!  Oh!"  and  that  was  all.  She 
clutched  a  crucifix  that  lay  on  the  bed,  lifted  it  hastily  to  her 
lips,  and  died. 

"  'The  expression  of  her  eyes  still  makes  me  shudder  as 
I  think  of  it.  She  must  have  suffered  much  !  There  was  joy 
in  her  last  glance,  and  it  remained  stamped  on  her  dead 
eyes. 

"  '  I  brought  away  the  will,  and  when  it  was  opened  I 


356  THE   GREAT  BRETECHE. 

found  that  Madame  de  Merret  had  appointed  me  her  executor. 
She  left  the  whole  of  her  property  to  the  hospital  at  Ven- 
dome excepting  a  few  legacies.  But  these  were  her  instruc- 
tions as  relating  to  La  Grande  Breteche :  She  ordered  me  to 
leave  the  place,  for  fifty  years  counting  from  the  day  of  her 
death,  in  the  state  in  which  it  might  be  at  the  time  of  her 
decease,  forbidding  any  one,  whoever  he  might  be,  to  enter 
the  apartments,  prohibiting  any  repairs  whatever,  and  even 
settling  a  salary  to  pay  watchmen  if  it  were  needful  to  secure 
the  absolute  fulfillment  of  her  intentions.  At  the  expiration 
of  that  term,  if  the  will  of  the  testatrix  has  been  duly  carried 
out,  the  house  is  to  become  the  property  of  my  heirs,  for,  as 
you  know,  a  notary  cannot  take  a  bequest.  Otherwise  La 
Grande  BretSche  reverts  to  the  heirs-at-law,  but  on  condition 
of  fulfilling  certain  conditions  set  forth  in  a  codicil  to  the 
will,  which  is  not  to  be  opened  until  the  expiration  of  the  said 

term  of  fifty  years.  The  will  has  not  been  disputed,  so ' 

And  without  finishing  his  sentence,  the  lanky  notary  looked 
at  me  with  an  air  of  triumph  ;  I  made  him  quite  happy  by 
offering  him  my  congratulations. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  I  said  in  conclusion,  '  you  have  so  vividly 
impressed  me  that  I  fancy  I  see  the  dying  woman  whiter  than 
her  sheets ;  her  glittering  eyes  frighten  me ;  I  shall  dream  of 
her  to-night.  But  you  must  have  formed  some  idea  as  to 
the  instructions  contained  in  that  extraordinary  will.' 

"'Monsieur,'  said  he,  with  comical  reticence,  'I  never 
allow  myself  to  criticise  the  conduct  of  a  person  who  honors 
me  with  the  gift  of  a  diamond.' 

"  However,  I  soon  loosened  the  tongue  of  the  discreet 
notary  of  Vendome,  who  communicated  to  me,  not  without 
long  digressions,  the  opinions  of  the  deep  politicians  of  both 
sexes  whose  judgments  are  law  in  Vendome.  But  these  opin- 
ions were  so  contradictory,  so  diffuse,  that  I  was  near  falling 
asleep  in  spite  of  the  interest  I  felt  in  this  authentic  history. 
The  notary's  ponderous  voice  and  monotonous  accent,  accus- 


THE   GREAT  BRETECHE.  357 

tomed  no  doubt  to  listen  to  himself  and  to  make  himself 
listened  to  by  his  clients  or  fellow-townsmen,  were  too  much 
for  my  curiosity.  Happily,  he  soon  went  away. 

"  '  Ah,  ha,  monsieur,'  said  he  on  the  stairs,  '  a  good  many 
persons  would  be  glad  to  live  five-and-forty  years  longer ;  but 
— one  moment !  '  and  he  laid  the  first  finger  of  his  right 
hand  to  his  nostril  with  a  cunning  look,  as  much  as  to  say, 
'  Mark  my  words  !  To  last  as  long  as  that — as  long  as  that, 
you  must  not  be  past  sixty  now.' 

"I  closed  my  door,  having  been  roused  from  my  apathy 
by  this  last  speech,  which  the  notary  thought  very  funny; 
then  I  sat  down  in  my  armchair,  with  my  feet  on  the  fire- 
dogs.  I  had  lost  myself  in  a  romance  a  la  Radcliffe,  con- 
structed on  the  juridical  base  given  me  by  Monsieur  Regnault, 
when  the  door,  opened  by  a  woman's  cautious  hand,  turned 
on  the  hinges.  I  saw  my  landlady  come  in,  a  buxom,  florid 
dame,  always  good-humored,  who  had  missed  her  calling  in 
life.  She  was  a  Fleming,  who  ought  to  have  seen  the  light  in 
a  picture  by  Teniers. 

"  'Well,  monsieur,'  said  she,  'Monsieur  Regnault  has  no 
doubt  been  giving  you  his  history  of  La  Grande  Brete'che  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  Madame  Lepas.' 

"  '  And  what  did  he  tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  repeated  in  a  few  words  the  creepy  and  sinister  story  of 
Madame  de  Merret.  At  each  sentence  my  hostess  put  her 
head  forward,  looking  at  me  with  an  innkeeper's  keen 
scrutiny,  a  happy  compromise  between  the  instinct  of  a  police 
constable,  the  astuteness  of  a  spy,  and  the  cunning  of  a 
dealer. 

"  '  My  good  Madame  Lepas,'  said  I,  as  I  ended,  '  you  seem 
to  know  more  about  it.  Heh  ?  If  not,  why  have  you  come 
up  to  me  ?  ' 

"  '  On  my  word  as  an  honest  woman ' 

"'Do  not  swear;  your  eyes  are  big  with  a  secret.  You 
knew  Monsieur  de  Merret ;  what  sort  of  man  was  he  ?  ' 


358  THE    GREAT  BRETECHE. 

"  'Monsieur  de  Merret — well,  you  see  he  was  a  man  you 
never  could  see  the  top  of,  he  was  so  tall !  A  very  good  gen- 
tleman, from  Picardy,  and  who  had,  as  we  say,  his  head  close 
to  his  cap.  He  paid  for  everything  down,  so  as  never  to  have 
difficulties  with  any  one.  He  was  hot-tempered,  you  see  ! 
All  our  ladies  liked  him  very  much.' 

"  '  Because  he  was  hot-tempered?  '  I  asked  her. 

"'Well,  may  be,'  she  said;  'and  you  may  suppose,  sir, 
that  a  man  had  to  have  something  to  show  for  a  figure-head 
before  he  could  marry  Madame  de  Merret,  who,  without  any 
reflection  on  others,  was  the  handsomest  and  richest  heiress 
in  our  parts.  She  had  about  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
All  the  town  was  at  the  wedding ;  the  bride  was  pretty  and 
sweet-looking,  quite  a  gem  of  a  woman.  Oh,  they  were  a 
handsome  couple  in  their  day ! ' 

"  'And  were  they  happy  together? ' 

"  '  Hm,  hm  !  so-so — so  far  as  can  be  guessed,  for,  as  you 
may  suppose,  we  of  the  common  sort  were  not  hail-fellow- 
well-met  with  them.  Madame  de  Merret  was  a  kind  woman 
and  very  pleasant,  who  had  no  doubt  sometimes  to  put  up 
with  her  husband's  tantrums.  But  though  he  was  rather 
haughty,  we  were  fond  of  him.  After  all,  it  was  his  place  to 
behave  so.  When  a  man  is  a  born  nobleman,  you  see ' 

"  '  Still,  there  must  have  been  some  catastrophe  for  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  de  Merret  to  part  so  violently?  ' 

"  '  I  did  not  say  there  was  any  catastrophe,  sir.  I  know 
nothing  about  it.' 

"  'Indeed.     Well,  now,  I  am  sure  you  know  everything.' 

"  '  Well,  sir,  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story.  When  I  saw 
Monsieur  Regnault  go  up  to  see  you,  it  struck  me  that  he 
would  speak  to  you  about  Madame  de  Merret  as  having  to  do 
with  La  Grande  Breteche.  That  put  it  into  my  head  to  ask 
your  advice,  sir,  seeming  to  me  that  you  are  a  man  of  good 
judgment  and  incapable  of  playing  a  poor  woman  like  me 
false — for  I  never  did  any  one  a  wrong  and  yet  I  am  tor- 


THE    GREAT  BRETECHE.  359 

merited  by  my  conscience.  Up  to  now  I  have  never  dared  to 
say  a  word  to  the  people  of  these  parts ;  they  are  all  chatter- 
mags,  with  tongues  like  knives.  And  never  till  now,  sir,  have 
I  had  any  traveler  here  who  stayed  so  long  in  the  inn  as  you 
have,  and  to  whom  I  could  tell  the  history  of  the  fifteen  thou- 
sand francs ' 

"  '  My  dear  Madame  Lepas,  if  there  is  anything  in  your 
story  of  a  nature  to  compromise  me,1  I  said,  interrupting  the 
flow  of  her  words,  '  I  would  not  hear  it  for  all  the  world.' 

"  '  You  need  have  no  fears,'  said  she ;   '  you  will  see.' 

"  Her  eagerness  made  me  suspect  that  I  was  not  the  only 
person  to  whom  my  worthy  landlady  had  communicated  the 
secret  of  which  I  was  to  be  sole  possessor,  but  I  listened. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  said  she,  '  when  the  Emperor  sent  the  Span- 
iards here,  prisoners  of  war  and  others,  I  was  required  to  lodge 
at  the  charge  of  the  government  a  young  Spaniard  sent  to 
Vendome  on  parole.  Notwithstanding  his  parole,  he  had  to 
show  himself  every  day  to  the  sub-prefect.  He  was  a  Spanish 
grandee — neither  more  nor  less.  He  had  a  name  in  os  and 
diat  something  like  Bagos  de  Feredia.  I  wrote  his  name 
down  in  my  books,  and  you  may  see  it  if  you  like.  Ah  !  he 
was  a  handsome  young  fellow  for  a  Spaniard,  who  are  all  ugly, 
they  say.  He  was  not  more  than  five  feet  two  or  three  in 
height,  but  so  well  made ;  and  he  had  little  hands  that  he 
kept  so  beautifully  !  Ah  !  you  should  have  seen  them.  He 
had  as  many  brushes  for  his  hands  as  a  woman  has  for  her 
toilet.  He  had  thick,  black  hair,  a  flame  in  his  eye,  a  some- 
what coppery  complexion,  but  which  I  admired  all  the  same. 
He  wore  the  finest  linen  I  have  ever  seen,  though  I  have  had 
princesses  to  lodge  here,  and,  among  others,  General  Bert- 
rand,  the  Due  and  Duchesse  d'Abrant6s,  Monsieur  Descazes, 
and  the  King  of  Spain.  He  did  not  eat  much,  but  he  had 
such  polite  and  amiable  ways  that  it  was  impossible  to  owe 
him  a  grudge  for  that.  Oh  !  I  was  very  fond  of  him,  though 
he  did  not  say  four  words  to  me  in  a  day,  and  it  was  impossi- 


360  THE    GREAT  BRETECHE. 

ble  to  have  the  least  bit  of  talk  with  him ;  if  he  was  spoken 
to,  he  did  not  answer ;  it  is  a  way,  a  mania  they  all  have,  it 
would  seem. 

"  '  He  read  his  breviary  like  a  priest,  and  went  to  mass  and 
all  the  services  quite  regularly.  And  where  did  he  post  him- 
self?— we  found  this  out  later.  Within  two  yards  of  Madame 
de  Merret's  chapel.  As  he  took  that  place  the  very  first  time 
he  entered  the  church  no  one  imagined  that  there  was  any 
purpose  in  it.  Beside,  he  never  raised  his  nose  above  his 
book,  poor  young  man  !  And  then,  monsieur,  of  an  evening 
he  went  for  a  walk  on  the  hill  among  the  ruins  of  the  old 
castle.  It  was  his  only  amusement,  poor  man  ;  it  reminded 
him  of  his  native  land.  They  say  that  Spain  is  all  hills  ! 

"  '  One  evening,  a  few  days  after  he  was  sent  here,  he  was 
out  very  late.  I  was  rather  uneasy  when  he  did  not  come  in 
till  just  on  the  stroke  of  midnight ;  but  we  all  got  used  to  his 
whims  ;  he  took  the  key  of  the  door,  and  we  never  sat  up  for 
him.  He  lived  in  a  house  belonging  to  us  in  the  Rue  des 
Casernes.  Well,  then,  one  of  our  stable-boys  told  us  one 
evening  that,  going  down  to  wash  the  horses  in  the  river,  he 
fancied  he  had  seen  the  Spanish  grandee  swimming  some  little 
way  off,  just  like  a  fish.  When  he  came  in,  I  told  him  to  be 
careful  of  the  weeds,  and  he  seemed  put  out  at  having  been 
seen  in  the  water. 

"  'At  last,  monsieur,  one  day,  or  rather  one  morning,  we 
did  not  find  him  in  his  room  ;  he  had  not  come  back.  By 
hunting  through  his  things,  I  found  a  written  paper  in  the 
drawer  of  his  table,  with  fifty  pieces  of  Spanish  gold  of  the 
kind  they  call  doubloons,  worth  about  five  thousand  francs  ; 
and  in  a  little  sealed  box  ten  thousand  francs'  worth  of  dia- 
monds. The  paper  said  that  in  case  he  should  not  return, 
he  left  us  this  money  and  these  diamonds  in  trust  to  found 
masses  to  thank  God  for  his  escape  and  for  his  salvation. 

"  '  At  that  time  I  still  had  my  husband,  who  ran  off  in 
search  of  him.  And  this  is  the  queer  part  of  the  story :  he 


THE   GREAT  BRETECHE.  361 

brought  back  the  Spaniard's  clothes,  which  he  had  found  under 
a  big  stone  on  a  sort  of  breakwater  along  the  river-bank,  nearly 
opposite  La  Grande  Breteche.  My  husband  went  so  early  that 
no  one  saw  him.  After  reading  the  letter,  he  burned  the 
clothes,  and,  in  obedience  to  Count  Feredia's  wish,  we.  an- 
nounced that  he  had  escaped. 

"  '  The  sub-prefect  set  all  the  constabulary  at  his  heels ; 
but,  pshaw !  he  was  never  caught.  Lepas  believed  that  the 
Spaniard  had  drowned  himself.  I,  sir,  have  never  thought 
so ;  I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  had  something  to  do 
with  the  business  about  Madame  de  Merret,  seeing  that  Rosalie 
told  me  that  the  crucifix  her  mistress  was  so  fond  of  that  she 
had  it  buried  with  her  was  made  of  ebony  and  silver ;  now 
in  the  early  days  of  his  stay  here,  Monsieur  Feredia  had  one 
of  ebony  and  silver  which  I  never  saw  later.  And  now,  mon- 
sieur, do  not  you  say  that  I  need  have  no  remorse  about  the 
Spaniard's  fifteen  thousand  francs  ?  Are  they  not  really  and 
truly  mine?' 

" '  Certainly.  But  have  you  never  tried  to  question 
Rosalie  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  Oh,  to  be  sure  I  have,  sir.  But  what  is  to  be  done? 
That  girl  is  like  a  wall.  She  knows  something,  but  it  is  im- 
possible to  make  her  talk.' 

"  After  chatting  with  me  for  a  few  minutes,  my  hostess  left 
me  a  prey  to  vague  and  sinister  thoughts,  to  romantic  curi- 
osity, and  a  religious  dread,  not  unlike  the  deep  emotion 
which  comes  upon  us  when  we  go  into  a  dark  church  at  night 
and  discern  a  feeble  light  glimmering  under  a  lofty  vault — a 
dim  figure  glides  across — the  sweep  of  a  gown  or  of  a  priest's 
cassock  is  audible — and  we  shiver  !  La  Grande  BretSche, 
with  its  rank  grasses,  its  shuttered  windows,  its  rusty  iron- 
work, its  locked  doors,  its  deserted  rooms,  suddenly  rose  be- 
fore me  in  fantastic  vividness.  I  tried  to  get  into  the  mysteri- 
ous dwelling  to  search  out  the  heart  of  this  solemn  story, 
this  drama  which  had  killed  three  persons. 


362  THE    GREAT  BRETECHE. 

"Rosalie  became  in  my  eyes  the  most  interesting  being  in 
Vendome.  As  I  studied  her,  I  detected  signs  of  an  inmost 
thought,  in  spite  of  the  blooming  health  that  glowed  in  her 
dimpled  face.  There  was  in  her  soul  some  element  of  ruth 
or  of  hope ;  her  manner  suggested  a  secret,  like  the  expres- 
sion of  devout  souls  who  pray  in  excess,  or  of  a  girl  who  has 
killed  her  child  and  for  ever  hears  its  last  cry.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  simple  and  clumsy  in  her  ways ;  her  vacant  smile  had 
nothing  criminal  in  it,  and  you  would  have  pronounced  her 
innocent  only  from  seeing  the  large  red  and  blue  checked 
kerchief  that  covered  her  stalwart  bust,  tucked  into  the  tight- 
laced  square  bodice  of  a  lilac-  and  white-striped  gown.  '  No,' 
said  I  to  myself,  '  I  will  not  quit  Vendome  without  knowing 
the  whole  history  of  La  Grande  BretSche.  To  achieve  this 
end,  I  will  make  love  to  Rosalie  if  it  proves  necessary.' 

"  '  Rosalie  !  '  said  I,  one  evening. 

"  '  Your  servant,  sir  ?  ' 

"  '  You  are  not  married  ? '     She  started  a  little. 

"  '  Oh  !  there  is  no  lack  of  men  if  ever  I  take  a  fancy  to  be 
miserable  !  '  she  replied,  laughing.  She  got  over  her  agita- 
tion at  once  ;  for  every  woman,  from,  the  highest  lady  to  the 
inn-servant  inclusive,  has  a  native  presence  of  mind. 

"'Yes;  you  are  fresh  and  good-looking  enough  never  to 
lack  lovers  !  But  tell  me,  Rosalie,  why  did  you  become  an 
inn-servant  on  leaving  Madame  de  Merret  ?  Did  she  not 
leave  you  some  little  annuity  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh  yes,  sir.  But  my  place  here  is  the  best  in  all  the 
town  of  Vendome.' 

"  This  reply  was  such  a  one  as  judges  and  attorneys  call 
evasive.  Rosalie,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  held  in  this  romantic 
affair  the  place  of  the  middle  square  of  the  chess-board ;  she 
was  at  the  very  centre  of  the  interest  and  of  the  truth  ;  she 
appeared  to  me  to  be  tied  into  the  knot  of  it.  It  was  not  a 
case  for  ordinary  love-making;  this  girl  contained  the  last 
chapter  of  a  romance,  and  from  that  moment  all  my  attentions 


THE    GREAT  BRETECHE.  363 

were  devoted  to  Rosalie.  By  dint  of  studying  the  girl,  I 
observed  in  her,  as  in  every  woman  whom  we  make  our  rul- 
ing thought,  a  variety  of  good  qualities  ;  she  was  clean  and 
neat ;  she  was  handsome,  I  need  not  say  ;  she  soon  was  pos- 
sessed of  every  charm  that  desire  can  lend  to  a  woman  in 
whatever  rank  of  life.  A  fortnight  after  the  notary's  visit, 
one  evening,  or  rather  one  morning,  in  the  small  hours,  I  said 
to  Rosalie — 

"  '  Come,  tell  me  all  you  know  about  Madame  de  Merret.' 

"  '  Oh  !  '  she  cried  in  terror,  '  do  not  ask  me  that,  Mon- 
sieur Horace  !  ' 

"  Her  handsome  features  clouded  over,  her  bright  coloring 
grew  pale,  and  her  eyes  lost  their  artless,  liquid  brightness. 

"  '  Well,'  she  said,  '  I  will  tell  you ;  but  keep  the  secret 
carefully. ' 

"  '  All  right,  my  child ;  I  will  keep  all  your  secrets  -with  a 
thief  s  honor,  which  is  the  most  loyal  known.' 

"  *  If  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,'  she  said,  '  I  would  rather  it 
should  be  with  your  own.' 

"Thereupon  she  set  her  head-kerchief  straight,  and  settled 
herself  to  tell  the  tale ;  for,  there  is  no  doubt,  a  particular  atti- 
tude of  confidence  and  security  is  necessary  to  the  telling  of 
a  narrative.  The  best  tales  are  told  at  a  certain  hour — just  as 
we  are  all  here  at  table.  No  one  ever  told  a  story  well 
standing  up  or  fasting. 

"  If  I  were  to  reproduce  exactly  Rosalie's  diffuse  eloquence, 
a  whole  volume  would  scarcely  contain  it.  Now,  as  the  event 
of  which  she  gave  me  a  confused  account  stands  exactly  mid- 
way between  the  notary's  gossip  and  that  of  Madame  Lepas, 
as  precisely  as  the  middle  term  of  a  rule-of-three  sum  stands 
between  the  first  and  third,  I  have  only  to  relate  it  in  as  few 
words  as  may  be.  I  shall  therefore  be  brief: 

"  The  room  at  La  Grande  Bret&che  in  which  Madame  de 
Merret  slept  was  on  the  first  floor ;  a  little  wardrobe  in  the 
wall,  about  four  feet  deep,  served  her  to  hang  her  dresses  in. 


364  THE   GREAT  BRETECHE. 

Three  months  before  the  evening  of  which  I  have  to  relate 
the  events,  Madame  de  Merret  had  been  seriously  ailing,  so 
much  so  that  her  husband  had  left  her  to  herself,  and  had  his 
own  bedroom  on  the  second  floor.  By  one  of  those  accidents 
which  it  is  impossible  to  foresee,  he  came  in  that  evening  two 
hours  later  than  usual  from  the  club,  where  he  went  to  read 
the  papers  and  talk  politics  with  the  residents  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. His  wife  supposed  him  to  have  come  in,  to  be  in  bed 
and  asleep.  But  the  invasion  of  France  had  been  the  subject 
of  a  very  animated  discussion  ;  the  game  of  billiards  had 
waxed  vehement ;  he  had  lost  forty  francs,  an  enormous  sum 
at  Vendome,  where  everybody  is  thrifty,  and  where  social 
habits  are  restrained  within  the  bounds  of  a  simplicity  worthy 
of  all  praise,  and  the  foundation,  perhaps,  of  a  form  of  true 
happiness  which  no  Parisian  would  care  for. 

"  For  some  time  past  Monsieur  de  Merret  had  been  satis- 
fied to  ask  Rosalie  whether  his  wife  was  in  bed ;  on  the  girl's 
replying  always  in  the  affirmative,  he  at  once  went  to  his  own 
room,  with  the  good  faith  that  comes  of  habit  and  confidence. 
But  this  evening,  on  coming  in,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  go 
to  see  Madame  de  Merret,  to  tell  her  of  his  ill-luck  and  per- 
haps to  find  consolation.  During  dinner  he  had  observed 
that  his  wife  was  very  becomingly  dressed  ;  he  reflected  as 
he  came  home  from  the  club  that  his  wife  was  certainly  much 
better,  that  convalescence  had  improved  her  beauty,  discov- 
ering it,  as  husbands  discover  everything,  a  little  too  late. 
Instead  of  calling  Rosalie,  who  was  in  the  kitchen  at  the 
moment  watching  the  cook  and  the  coachman  playing  a 
puzzling  hand  at  cards,  Monsieur  de  Merret  made  his  way  to 
his  wife's  room  by  the  light  of  his  lantern,  which  he  set  down 
on  the  lowest  step  of  the  stairs.  His  step,  easy  to  recognize, 
rang  under  the  vaulted  passage. 

"At  the  instant  when  the  gentleman  turned  the  key  to 
enter  his  wife's  room,  he  fancied  he  heard  the  door  shut  of 
the  closet  of  which  I  have  spoken ;  but,  when  he  went  in, 


THE   GREAT  BRETECHE.  365 

Madame  de  Merret  was  alone,  standing  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place. The  unsuspecting  husband  fancied  that  Rosalie  was 
in  the  cupboard ;  nevertheless,  a  doubt,  ringing  in  his  ears 
like  a  peal  of  bells,  put  him  on  his  guard  ;  he  looked  at  his 
wife  and  read  in  her  eyes  an  indescribably  anxious  and  hunted 
expression. 

"  'You  are  very  late,1  she  said.  Her  voice,  usually  so  clear 
and  sweet,  struck  him  as  being  slightly  husky. 

"  Monsieur  de  Merret  made  no  reply,  for  at  this  moment 
Rosalie  came  in.  This  was  like  a  thunderclap.  He  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  going  from  one  window  to  another  at 
a  regular  pace,  his  arms  folded. 

"  '  Have  you  had  bad  news  or  are  you  ill  ? '  his  wife  asked 
him  timidly,  while  Rosalie  helped  her  to  undress.  He  made 
no  reply. 

"  '  You  can  go,  Rosalie,'  said  Madame  de  Merret  to  her 
maid ;  '  I  can  put  in  my  curl-papers  myself.'  She  scented 
disaster  at  the  mere  aspect  of  her  husband's  face,  and  wished 
to  be  alone  with  him.  As  soon  as  Rosalie  was  gone,  or  sup- 
posed to  be  gone,  for  she  lingered  a  few  minutes  in  the  pas- 
sage, Monsieur  de  Merret  came  and  stood  facing  his  wife,  and 
said  coldly,  '  Madame,  there  is  some  one  in  your  cupboard  ! ' 
She  looked  at  her  husband  calmly,  and  replied  quite  simply, 
*  No,  monsieur. ' 

"This  'No'  wrung  Monsieur  de  Merret's  heart;  he  did 
not  believe  it ;  and  yet  his  wife  had  never  appeared  purer  and 
more  saintly  than  she  seemed  to  be  at  this  moment.  He  rose 
to  go  and  open  the  closet  door.  Madame  de  Merret  took  his 
hand,  stopped  him,  looked  at  him  sadly,  and  said  in  a  voice 
of  strange  emotion,  '  Remember,  if  you  should  find  no  one 
there,  everything  must  be  at  an  end  between  you  and  me.' 

"  The  extraordinary  dignity  of  his  wife's  attitude  filled  him 
with  deep  esteem  for  her  and  inspired  him  with  one  of  those 
resolves  which  need  only  a  grander  stage  to  become  immortal. 

"  '  No,  Josephine,'  he  said,  '  I  will  not  open  it.     In  either 


366  THE   GREAT  BRETECHE. 

event  we  should  be  parted  for  ever.  Listen  ;  I  know  all  the 
purity  of  your  soul,  I  know  you  lead  a  saintly  life,  and  would 
not  commit  a  deadly  sin  to  save  your  life.'  At  these  words 
Madame  de  Merret  looked  at  her  husband  with  a  haggard 
stare — '  See,  here  is  your  crucifix,'  he  went  on.  '  Swear  to 
me  before  God  that  there  is  no  one  in  there ;  I  will  believe 
you — I  will  never  open  that  door. ' 

"Madame  de  Merret  took  up  the  crucifix  and  said,  'I 
swear  it.' 

"  '  Louder,'  said  her  husband  ;  '  and  repeat :  I  swear  before 
God  that  there  is  nobody  in  that  closet.'  She  repeated  the 
words  without  flinching. 

"  '  That  will  do,'  said  Monsieur  de  Merret  coldly.  After 
a  moment's  silence  :  '  You  have  there  a  fine  piece  of  work 
which  I  never  saw  before,'  said  he,  examining  the  crucifix  of 
ebony  and  silver,  very  artistically  wrought. 

"  '  I  found  it  at  Duvivier's ;  last  year  when  that  troop  of 
Spanish  prisoners  came  through  Vendome,  he  bought  it  of  a 
Spanish  monk.' 

"  '  Indeed,'  said  Monsieur  de  Merret,  hanging  the  crucifix 
on  its  nail ;  and  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  He  had  not  to  wait  for  Rosalie.  Monsieur  de  Merret 
went  forward  quickly  to  meet  her,  led  her  into  the  bay  of  the 
window  that  looked  on  to  the  garden,  and  said  to  her  in  an 
undertone — 

"  '  I  know  that  Gorenflot  wants  to  marry  you,  that  poverty 
alone  prevents  your  setting  up  house,  and  that  you  told  him 
you  would  not  be  his  wife  until  he  found  means  to  become  a 
master  mason.  Well,  go  and  fetch  him  ;  tell  him  to  come 
here  with  his  trowel  and  tools.  Contrive  to  wake  no  one  in 
his  house  but  himself.  His  reward  will  be  beyond  your 
wishes.  Above  all,  go  out  without  saying  a  word — or  else  ! ' 
and  he  frowned. 

"  Rosalie  was  going,  and  he  called  her  back.  '  Here,  take 
my  latch-key,'  said  he. 


THE   GREAT  BRETECHE.  367 

"  '  Jean  ! '  Monsieur  de  Merret  called  in  a  voice  of  thunder 
down  the  passage.  Jean,  who  was  both  coachman  and  con- 
fidential servant,  left  his  cards  and  came. 

"  '  Go  to  bed,  all  of  you,'  said  his  master,  beckoning  him 
to  come  close ;  and  the  gentleman  added  in  a  whisper,  '  When 
they  are  all  asleep — mind,  asleep — you  understand  ? — come 
down  and  tell  me.' 

"  Monsieur  de  Merret,  who  had  never  lost  sight  of  his  wife 
while  giving  his  orders,  quietly  came  back  to  her  at  the  fire- 
side and  began  to  tell  her  the  details  of  the  game  of  billiards 
and  the  discussion  at  the  club.  When  Rosalie  returned  she 
found  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Merret  conversing  amiably. 

"Not  long  before  this  Monsieur  de  Merret  had  had  new 
ceilings  made  to  all  the  reception-rooms  on  the  first  floor. 
Plaster  is  very  scarce  at  Vendome ;  the  price  is  enhanced  by 
the  cost  of  carriage;  the  gentleman  had  therefore  had  a  con- 
siderable quantity  delivered  to  him,  knowing  that  he  could 
always  find  purchasers  for  what  might  be  left.  It  was  this 
circumstance  which  suggested  the  plan  he  carried  out. 

"  'Gorenflot  is  here,  sir,'  said  Rosalie  in  a  whisper. 

"  'Tell  him  to  come  in,'  said  her  master  aloud. 

"  Madame  de  Merret  turned  paler  when  she  saw  the  mason. 

"  '  Gorenflot,'  said  her  husband,  '  go  and  fetch  some  bricks 
from  the  coach-house ;  bring  enough  to  wall  up  the  door  of 
this  cupboard ;  you  can  use  the  plaster  that  is  left  for  cement. ' 
Then,  dragging  Rosalie  and  the  workman  close  to  him — 
'  Listen,  Gorenflot,'  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  '  you  are  to  sleep 
here  to-night ;  but  to-morrow  morning  you  shall  have  a  pass- 
port to  take  you  abroad  to  a  place  I  will  tell  you  of.  I  will 
give  you  six  thousand  francs  for  your  journey.  You  must  live 
in  that  town  for  ten  years ;  if  you  find  you  do  not  like  it,  you 
may  settle  in  another,  but  it  must  be  in  the  same  country. 
Go  through  Paris  and  wait  there  till  I  join  you.  I  will  there 
give  you  an  agreement  for  six  thousand  francs  more,  to  be 
paid  to  you  on  your  return,  provided  you  have  carried  out 


368  THE    GREAT  BRETECHE. 

the  conditions  of  the  bargain.  For  that  price  you  are  to  keep 
perfect  silence  as  to  what  you  have  to  do  this  night.  To  you, 
Rosalie,  I  will  secure  ten  thousand  francs,  which  will  not  be 
paid  to  you  until  your  wedding-day,  and  on  condition  of 
your  marrying  Gorenflot ;  but,  to  get  married,  you  must  hold 
your  tongue.  If  not,  no  wedding-gift ! ' 

"  '  Rosalie,'  said  Madame  de  Merret,  '  come  and  brush  my 
hair.' 

"  Her  husband  quietly  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  keep- 
ing an  eye  on  the  door,  on  the  mason,  and  on  his  wife,  but 
without  any  insulting  display  of  suspicion.  Gorenflot  could 
not  help  making  some  noise.  Madame  de  Merret  seized  a 
moment  when  he  was  unloading  some  bricks,  and  when  her 
husband  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  to  say  to  Rosalie  : 
*  My  dear  child,  I  will  give  you  a  thousand  francs  a  year  if 
only  you  will  tell  Gorenflot  to  leave  a  crack  at  the  bottom.' 
Then  she  added  aloud  quite  coolly:  'You  had  better  help 
him.' 

"  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Merret  were  silent  all  the  time 
while  Gorenflot  was  walling  up  the  door.  This  silence  was 
intentional  on  the  husband's  part ;  he  did  not  wish  to  give 
his  wife  the  opportunity  of  saying  anything  with  a  double 
meaning.  On  Madame  de  Merret's  side  it  was  pride  or  pru- 
dence. When  the  wall  was  half  built  up  the  cunning  mason 
took  advantage  of  his  master's  back  being  turned  to  break  one 
of  the  two  panes  in  the  top  of  the  door  with  a  blow  of  his 
pick.  By  this  Madame  de  Merret  understood  that  Rosalie 
had  spoken  to  Gorenflot.  They  all  three  then  saw  the  face 
of  a  dark,  gloomy-looking  man,  with  black  hair  and  flaming 
eyes. 

"  Before  her  husband  turned  round  again  the  poor  woman 
had  nodded  to  the  stranger,  to  whom  the  signal  was  meant  to 
convey,  '  Hope.' 

"At  four  o'clock,  as  day  was  dawning,  for  it  was  the 
month  of  September,  the  work  was  done.  The  mason  was 


THE   GREAT  B  RE  TECH E.  369 

placed  in  charge  of  Jean,  and  Monsieur  de  Merret  slept  in 
his  wife's  room. 

"  Next  morning  when  he  got  up  he  said  with  apparent  care- 
lessness, '  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  must  go  to  the  mayor  for  the 
passport.'  He  put  on  his  hat,  took  two  or  three  steps  toward 
the  door,  paused,  and  took  the  crucifix.  His  wife  was  trem- 
bling with  joy. 

"  '  He  will  go  to  Duvivier's,'  thought  she. 

"  As  soon  as  he  had  left,  Madame  de  Merret  rang  for 
Rosalie,  and  then  in  a  terrible  voice  she  cried  :  *  The  pick  ! 
Bring  the  pick  !  and  set  to  work.  I  saw  how  Gorenflot  did 
it  yesterday ;  we  shall  have  time  to  make  a  gap  and  build  it 
up  again.' 

"  In  an  instant  Rosalie  had  brought  her  mistress  a  sort  of 
cleaver ;  she,  with  a  vehemence  of  which  no  words  can  give 
an  idea,  set  to  work  to  demolish  the  wall.  She  had  already 
gotten  out  a  few  bricks,  when,  turning  to  deal  a  stronger  blow 
than  before,  she  saw  behind  her  Monsieur  de  Merret.  She 
fainted  away. 

"  '  Lay  madame  on  her  bed,'  he  said  coldly. 

"  Foreseeing  what  would  certainly  happen  in  his  absence, 
he  had  laid  this  trap  for  his  wife ;  he  had  merely  written  to 
the  mayor  and  sent  for  Duvivier.  The  jeweler  arrived  just  as 
the  disorder  in  the  room  had  been  repaired. 

"'Duvivier,'  asked  Monsieur  de  Merret,  'did  you  not 
buy  some  crucifixes  of  the  Spaniards  who  passed  through  the 
town  ? ' 

"  '  No,  monsieur.' 

"  '  Very  good ;  thank  you,'  said  he,  flashing  a  tiger's  glare 
at  his  wife.  'Jean,'  he  added,  turning  to  his  confidential 
valet,  '  you  can  serve  my  meals  here  in  Madame  de  Merret's 
room.  She  is  ill,  and  I  shall  not  leave  her  until  she  re- 
covers. ' 

"  The  cruel  man  remained  in  his  wife's  room  for  twenty 
days.  During  the  earlier  time,  when  there  was  some  little 
24 


370 


THE   GREAT  BRETECHE. 


noise  in  the  closet,  and  Josephine  wanted  to  intercede  for  the 
dying  man,  he  said,  without  allowing  her  to  utter  a  word, 
'You  swore  on  the  cross  that  there  was  no  one  in  there.'  ' 

After  this  story  all  the  ladies  arose  from  the  table,  and  thus 
the  spell  under  which  Bianchon  had  held  them  was  broken. 
But  there  were  some  among  them  who  had  almost  shivered 
at  the  last  words. 


A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

Translated  by  ELLEN  MARRIAGE. 

To  Monsieur  ic  Baron  James  de  Rothschild,   Banker  and 
Austrian  Consul- General  at  Paris. 

THE  word  lorette  is  a  euphemism  invented  to  describe  the 
status  of  a  personage,  or  a  personage  of  a  status,  of  which  it 
is  awkward  to  speak ;  the  French  Academic,  in  its  modesty, 
having  omitted  to  supply  a  definition  out  of  regard  for  the 
age  of  its  forty  members.  Whenever  a  new  word  comes  in  to 
supply  the  place  of  an  unwieldy  circumlocution,  its  fortune  is 
assured;  the  word  lorette  has  passed  into  the  language  of 
every  class  of  society,  even  where  the  lorette  herself  will 
never  gain  an  entrance.  It  was  only  invented  in  1840,  and 
derived  beyond  a  doubt  from  the  agglomeration  of  such  swal- 
lows' nests  about  the  church  of  Our  Lady  of  Loretto.  This 
information  is  for  etymologists  only.  Those  gentlemen  would 
not  be  so  often  in  a  quandary  if  mediaeval  writers  had  only 
taken  such  pains  with  details  of  contemporary  manners  as  we 
take  in  these  days  of  analysis  and  description. 

Mile.  Turquet,  or  Malaga,  for  she  is  better  known  by  her 
pseudonym,*  was  one  of  the  earliest  parishioners  of  that 
charming  church.  At  the  time  to  which  this  story  belongs, 
that  light-hearted  and  lively  damsel  gladdened  the  existence 
of  a  notary  with  a  wife  somewhat  too  bigoted,  rigid,  and  frigid 
for  domestic  happiness. 

Now,  it  so  fell  out  that  one  carnival  evening  Master  Cardot 
was  entertaining  guests  at  Mile.  Turquet's  house — Desroches 
the  attorney,  Bixiou  of  the  caricatures,  Lousteau  the  jour- 

*  See  "  The  Imaginary  Mistress." 

(371) 


372  A    MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

nalist,  Nathan,  and  others ;  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  give  any 
further  description  of  these  personages,  all  bearers  of  illustri- 
ous names  in  the  "Comedie  Humaine."  Young  La  Palferine, 
in  spite  of  his  title  of  Count  and  his  great  descent,  which, 
alas  !  means  a  great  descent  in  fortune  likewise,  had  honored 
the  notary's  little  establishment  with  his  presence. 

At  dinner,  in  such  a  house,  one  does  not  expect  to  meet 
the  patriarchal  beef,  the  skinny  fowl  and  salad  of  domestic 
and  family  life,  nor  is  there  any  attempt  at  the  hypocritical 
conversation  of  drawing-rooms  furnished  with  highly  respect- 
able matrons.  When,  alas  !  will  respectability  be  charming  ? 
When  will  the  women  in  good  society  vouchsafe  to  show  rather 
less  of  their  shoulders  and  rather  more  wit  or  geniality? 
Marguerite  Turquet,  the  Aspasia  of  the  Cirque-Olympique,  is 
one  of  those  frank,  very  living  personalities  to  whom  all  is 
forgiven,  such  unconscious  sinners  are  they,  such  intelligent 
penitents;  of  such  as  Malaga  one  might  ask,  like  Cardot — a 
witty  man  enough,  albeit  a  notary — to  be  well  "deceived." 
And  yet  you  must  not  think  that  any  enormities  were  com- 
mitted. Desroches  and  Cardot  were  good  fellows  grown  too 
gray  in  the  profession  not  to  feel  at  ease  with  Bixiou,  Lous- 
teau,  Nathan,  and  young  La  Palfdrine.  And  they  on  their 
side  had  too  often  had  recourse  to  their  legal  advisers  and 
knew  them  too  well  to  try  to  "draw  them  out,"  in  lorette  lan- 
guage. 

Conversation,  perfumed  with  seven  cigars,  at  first  was  as  fan- 
tastic as  a  kid  let  loose,  but  finally  it  settled  down  upon  the 
strategy  of  the  constant  war  waged  in  Paris  between  creditors 
and  debtors. 

Now,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  recall  the  history  and 
antecedents  of  the  guests,  you  will  know  that  in  all  Paris  you 
could  scarcely  find  a  group  of  men  with  more  experience 
in  this  matter ;  the  professional  men  on  one  hand  and  the 
artists  on  the  other  were  something  in  the  position  of  magis- 
trates and  criminals  hobnobbing  together.  A  set  of  Bixiou's 


A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  373 

drawings  to  illustrate  life  in  the  debtors'  prison  led  the  con- 
versation to  take  this  particular  turn ;  and  from  debtors' 
prisons  they  went  to  debts. 

It  was  midnight.  They  had  broken  up  into  little  knots 
around  the  table  and  before  the  fire,  and  gave  themselves  up  to 
the  burlesque  fun  which  is  only  possible  or  comprehensible  in 
Paris  and  in  that  particular  region  which  is  bounded  by  the 
Faubourg  Montmartre,  the  Rue  Chaussee  d'Antin,  the  upper 
end  of  the  Rue  de  Navarin  and  the  line  of  the  boulevards. 

In  ten  minutes'  time  they  had  come  to  an  end  of  all  the 
deep  reflections,  all  the  moralizings,  small  and  great,  all  the 
bad  puns  made  on  a  subject  already  exhausted  by  Rabelais 
three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  It  is  not  a  little  to  their 
credit  that  the  pyrotechnic  display  was  cut  short  with  a  final 
squib  from  Malaga. 

"  It  all  goes  to  the  shoemakers,"  she  said.  "  I  left  a 
milliner  because  she  failed  twice  with  my  hats.  The  vixen 
has  been  here  twenty-seven  times  to  ask  for  twenty  francs. 
She  did  not  know  that  we  never  have  twenty  francs.  One 
has  a  thousand  francs,  or  one  sends  to  one's  notary  for  five 
hundred  ;  but  twenty  francs  I  have  never  had  in  my  life. 
My  cook  and  my  maid  may,  perhaps,  have  so  much  between 
them ;  but  for  my  own  part,  I  have  nothing  but  credit,  and  I 
should  lose  that  if  I  took  to  borrowing  small  sums.  If  I  were 
to  ask  for  twenty  francs,  I  should  have  nothing  to  distinguish 
me  from  my  colleagues  that  walk  the  boulevard." 

"  Is  the  milliner  paid  ?  "  asked  La  Palferine. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  are  you  turning  stupid?  "  she  said,  with 
a  wink.  "She  came  this  morning  for  the  twenty-seventh 
time,  that  is  how  I  came  to  mention  it." 

"What  did  you  do?"  asked  Desroches. 

"I  took  pity  upon  her,  and — ordered  a  little  hat  that  I 
have  just  invented,  a  quite  new  shape.  If  Mademoiselle 
Amanda  succeeds  with  it,  she  will  say  no  more  about  the 
money,  her  fortune  is  made." 


374  A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

"In  my  opinion,"  put  in  Desroches,  "the  finest  things 
that  I  have  seen  in  a  duel  of  this  kind  give  those  who  know 
Paris  a  far  better  picture  of  the  city  than  all  the  fancy  portraits 
that  they  paint.  Sonv  of  you  think  that  you  know  a  thing 
or  two,"  he  continued,  glancing  round  at  Nathan,  Bixiou, 
La  Pal  ferine,  and  Lousteau,  "  but  the  king  of  the  ground  is  a 
certain  Count,  now  busy  ranging  himself.  In  his  time,  he 
was  supposed  to  be  the  cleverest,  adroitest,  canniest,  boldest, 
stoutest,  most  subtle,  and  experienced  of  all  the  pirates,  who, 
equipped  with  fine  manners,  yellow  kid  gloves,  and  cabs,  have 
ever  sailed  or  ever  will  sail  upon  the  stormy  sea  of  Paris.  He 
fears  neither  God  nor  man.  He  applies  in  private  life  the 
principles  that  guide  the  English  cabinet.  Up  to  the  time  of 
his  marriage,  his  life  was  one  continual  war,  like — Lousteau's, 
for  instance.  I  was  and  am  still  his  attorney." 

"And  the  first  letter  of  his  name  is  Maxime  de  Trailles," 
said  La  Pal  ferine. 

"  For  that  matter,  he  has  paid  every  one  and  injured  no 
one,"  continued  Desroches.  "But  as  our  friend  Bixiou  was 
saying  just  now,  it  is  a  violation  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject 
to  be  made  to  pay  in  March  when  you  have  no  mind  to  pay 
till  October.  By  virtue  of  this  article  of  his  particular  code, 
Maxime  regarded  a  creditor's  scheme  for  making  him  pay  at 
once  as  a  swindler's  trick.  It  was  long  since  he  had  grasped 
the  significance  of  the  bill  of  exchange  in  all  its  bearings, 
direct  and  remote.  A  young  man  once,  in  my  place,  called 
a  bill  of  exchange  the  '  asses'  bridge '  in  his  hearing.  '  No,' 
said  he,  '  it  is  the  Bridge  of  Sighs ;  it  is  the  shortest  way  to 
an  execution.'  Indeed,  his  knowledge  of  commercial  law  was 
so  complete  that  a  professional  could  not  have  taught  him  any- 
thing. At  that  time  he  had  nothing,  as  you  know.  His 
carriage  and  horses  were  jobbed  ;  he  lived  in  his  valet's 
house ;  and,  by  the  way,  he  will  be  a  hero  to  his  valet  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter,  even  after  the  marriage  that  he  proposes 
to  make.  He  belonged  to  three  clubs,  and  dined  at  one  of 


A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  375 

them  whenever  he  did  not  dine  out.  As  a  rule,  he  was  to  be 
found  very  seldom  at  his  own  address " 

"He  once  said  to  me,"  interrupted  la  Palferine,  "'My 
own  affectation  is  the  pretense  that  I  make  of  living  in  the 
Rue  Pigalle.'  " 

"Well,"  resumed  Desroches,  "  he  was  one  of  the  combat- 
ants ;  and  now  for  the  other.  You  have  heard  more  or  less 
talk  of  one  Claparon  ?  " 

"  Had  hair  like  this  !  "  cried  Bixiou,  ruffling  his  locks  till 
they  stood  on  end.  Gifted  with  the  same  talent  for  mimicking 
absurdities  which  Chopin  the  pianist  possesses  to  so  high  a 
degree,  he  proceeded  forthwith  to  represent  the  character 
with  startling  truth. 

"  He  rolls  his  head  like  this  when  he  speaks  ;  he  was  once 
a  commercial  traveler ;  he  has  been  all  sorts  of  things " 

"  Well,  he  was  born  to  travel,  for  at  this  minute,  as  I  speak, 
he  is  on  the  sea  on  his  way  to  America,"  said  Desroches. 
"  It  is  his  only  chance,  for  in  all  probability  he  will  be  con- 
demned by  default  as  a  fraudulent  bankrupt  next  session." 

"  Very  much  at  sea  !  "  exclaimed  Malaga. 

"  For  six  or  seven  years  this  Claparon  acted  as  man  of 
straw,  cat's-paw,  and  scapegoat  to  two  friends  of  ours,  du 
Tillet  and  Nucingen  ;  but  in  1829  his  part  was  so  well  known 
that " 

"  Our  friends  dropped  him,"  put  in  Bixiou. 

"  They  left  him  to  his  fate  at  last,  and  he  wallowed  in  the 
mire,"  continued  Desroches.  "  In  1833  he  went  into  part- 
nership with  one  Cerizet " 

"  What !  he  that  promoted  a  joint-stock  company  so  nicely 
that  the  Sixth  Chamber  cut  short  his  career  with  a  couple  of 
years  in  jail  ?  "  asked  the  lorette. 

"  The  same.  Under  the  restoration,  between  1823  and 
1827,  Cerizet's  occupation  consisted  in  first  putting  his  name 
intrepidly  to  various  paragraphs,  on  which  the  public  prosecutor 
fastened  with  avidity,  and  subsequently  marching  him  off  to 


376  A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

prison.  A  man  could  make  a  name  for  himself  with  small 
expense  in  those  days.  The  liberal  party  called  their  provin- 
cial champion  '  the  courageous  Cerizet,'  and  toward  1828  so 
much  zeal  received  its  reward  in  'general  interest.' 

"  '  General  interest '  is  a  kind  of  civic  crown  bestowed  on 
the  deserving  by  the  daily  press.  Cerizet  tried  to  discount 
the  '  general  interest '  taken  in  him.  He  came  to  Paris,  and, 
with  some  help  from  capitalists  in  the  opposition,  started  as  a 
broker,  and  conducted  financial  operations  to  some  extent, 
the  capital  being  found  by  a  man  in  hiding,  a  skillful  gambler 
who  overreached  himself,  and  in  consequence,  in  July,  1830, 
his  capital  foundered  in  the  shipwreck  of  the  government." 

"  Oh  !  it  was  he  whom  we  used  to  call  the  System,"  cried 
Bixiou. 

"Say  no  harm  of  him,  poor  fellow,"  protested  Malaga. 
"  D'Estourny  was  a  good  sort." 

"  You  can  imagine  the  part  that  a  ruined  man  was  sure  to 
play  in  1830  when  his  name  in  politics  was  'the  courageous 
Cerizet.'  He  was  sent  off  into  a  very  snug  little  sub-prefec- 
ture. Unluckily  for  him,  it  is  one  thing  to  be  in  opposition 
— any  missile  is  good  enough  to  throw,  so  long  as  the  fight 
lasts ;  but  quite  another  to  be  in  office.  Three  months  later 
he  was  obliged  to  send  in  his  resignation.  Had  he  not  taken 
it  into  his  head  to  attempt  to  win  popularity?  Still,  as  he 
had  done  nothing  as  yet  to  imperil  his  title  of  '  courageous 
Cerizet,'  the  government  proposed  by  way  of  compensation 
that  he  should  manage  a  newspaper ;  nominally  an  opposition 
paper,  but  ministerialist  in  petto.  So  the  fall  of  this  noble 
nature  was  really  due  to  the  government.  To  Cerizet,  as 
manager  of  the  paper,  it  was  rather  too  evident  that  he  was 
as  a  bird  perched  on  a  rotten  bough  ;  and  then  it  was  that  he 
promoted  that  nice  little  joint-stock  company  and  thereby 
secured  a  couple  of  years  in  prison  ;  he  was  caught,  while 
more  ingenious  swindlers  succeeded  in  catching  the  public." 

"  We  are  acquainted  with  the  more  ingenious,"  said  Bixiou  ; 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  377 

"  let  us  say  no  ill  of  the  poor  fellow ;  he  was  nabbed  ;  Couture 
allowed  them  to  squeeze  his  cash-box ;  who  would  ever  have 
thought  it  of  him?  " 

''At  all  events,  Cerizet  was  a  low  sort  of  fellow,  a  good 
deal  damaged  by  low  debauchery.  Now  for  the  duel  I  spoke 
about.  Never  did  two  tradesmen  of  the  worst  type,  with  the 
worst  manners,  the  lowest  pair  of  villains  imaginable,  go  into 
partnership  in  a  dirtier  business.  Their  stock-in-trade  con- 
sisted of  the  peculiar  idiom  of  the  man  about  town,  the 
audacity  of  poverty,  the  cunning  that  comes  of  experience, 
and  a  special  knowledge  of  Parisian  capitalists,  their  origin, 
connections,  acquaintances,  and  intrinsic  value.  This  part- 
nership of  two  '  dabblers  '  (let  the  stock  exchange  term  pass, 
for  it  is  the  only  word  which  describes  them),  this  partner- 
ship of  dabblers  did  not  last  very  long.  They  fought  like 
famished  curs  over  every  bit  of  garbage. 

"  The  earlier  speculations  of  the  firm  of  Cerizet  and  Clap- 
aron  were,  however,  well  planned.  The  two  scamps  joined 
forces  with  Barbet,  Chaboisseau,  Samanon,  and  usurers  of  that 
stamp  and  bought  up  hopelessly  bad  debts. 

"Claparon's  place  of  business  at  that  time  was  a  cramped 
entresol  in  the  Rue  Chabannais — five  rooms  at  a  rent  of  seven 
hundred  francs  at  most.  Each  partner  slept  in  a  little  closet, 
so  carefully  closed  from  prudence  that  my  head  clerk  could 
never  get  inside.  The  furniture  of  the  other  three  rooms — 
an  antechamber,  a  waiting-room,  and  a  private  office — would 
not  have  fetched  three  hundred  francs  altogether  at  a  distress- 
warrant  sale.  You  know  enough  of  Paris  to  know  the  look 
of  it ;  the  stuffed  horsehair-covered  chairs,  a  table  covered 
with  a  green  cloth,  a  trumpery  clock  between  a  couple  of 
candle  sconces,  growing  tarnished  under  glass  shades,  the 
small  gilt-framed  mirror  over  the  chimney-piece,  and  in  the 
grate  a  charred  stick  or  two  of  firewood  which  had  lasted 
them  for  two  winters,  as  my  head  clerk  put  it.  As  for  the 
office,  you  can  guess  what  it  was  like — more  letter-files  than 


378  A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

business  letters,  a  set  of  common  pigeon-holes  for  either 
partner,  a  cylinder  desk,  empty  as  the  cash-box,  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  a  couple  of  armchairs  on  either  side  of  a 
coal  fire.  The  carpet  on  the  floor  was  bought  cheap  at 
second-hand  (like  the  bills  and  bad  debts).  In  short,  it  was 
the  mahogany  furniture  of  furnished  apartments  which  usually 
descends  from  one  occupant  of  chambers  to  another  during 
fifty  years  of  service.  Now  you  know  the  pair  of  antagonists. 

"  During  the  first  three  months  of  a  partnership  dissolved 
four  months  later  in  a  bout  of  fisticuffs,  Cerizet  and  Claparon 
bought  up  two  thousand  francs'  worth  of  bills  bearing  Max- 
ime's  signature  (since  Maxime  is  his  name),  and  filled  a 
couple  of  letter-files  to  bursting  with  judgments,  appeals, 
orders  of  the  court,  distress-warrants,  application  for  stay  of 
proceedings,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ;  to  put  it  briefly,  they  had 
bills  for  three  thousand  two  hundred  francs  odd  centimes,  for 
which  they  had  given  five  hundred  francs ;  the  transfer  being 
made  under  private  seal,  with  special  power  of  attorney,  to 
save  the  expense  of  registration.  Now  it  so  happened  at  this 
juncture,  Maxime,  being  of  ripe  age,  was  seized  with  one  of 
the  fancies  peculiar  to  the  man  of  fifty " 

"Antonia!"  exclaimed  La  Palfe~rine.  "That  Antonia 
whose  fortune  I  made  by  writing  to  ask  for  a  tooth-brush  !  " 

"Her  real  name  is  Chocardelle,"  said  Malaga,  not  over 
well  pleased  by  the  fine-sounding  pseudonym. 

"The  same,"  continued  Desroches. 

"  It  was  the  only  mistake  Maxime  ever  made  in  his  life. 
But  what  would  you  have,  no  vice  is  absolutely  perfect?" 
put  in  Bixiou. 

"  Maxime  had  still  to  learn  what  sort  of  a  life  a  man  may 
be  led  into  by  a  girl  of  eighteen  when  she  is  minded  to  take 
a  header  from  her  honest  garret  into  a  sumptuous  carriage ;  it 
is  a  lesson  that  all  statesmen  should  take  to  heart.  At  this 
time,  de  Marsay  had  just  been  employing  his  friend,  our 
friend  de  Trailles,  in  the  high  comedy  of  politics.  Maxime 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  379 

had  looked  high  for  his  conquests ;  he  had  no  experience  of 
untitled  women ;  and  at  fifty  years  he  felt  that  he  had  a  right 
to  take  a  bite  of  a  little  so-called  wild  fruit,  much  as  a  sports- 
man will  halt  under  a  peasant's  apple  tree.  So  the  Count 
found  a  reading-room  for  Mademoiselle  Chocardelle,  a  rather 
smart  little  place  to  be  had  cheap,  as  usual " 

"Pooh!"  said  Nathan.  "She  did  not  stay  in  it  six 
months.  She  was  too  handsome  to  keep  a  reading-room." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  the  father  of  her  child?  "  suggested  the 
lorette. 

Desroches  resumed : 

"  Since  the  firm  bought  up  Maxime's  debts,  Cerizet's  like- 
ness to  a  bailiff's  officer  grew  more  and  more  striking,  and  one 
morning  after  seven  fruitless  attempts  he  succeeded  in  pene- 
trating into  the  Count's  presence.  Suzon,  the  old  man- 
servant, albeit  he  was  by  no  means  in  his  novitiate,  at  last 
mistook  the  visitor  for  a  petitioner,  come  to  propose  a  thou- 
sand crowns  if  Maxime  would  obtain  a  license  to  sell  postage 
stamps  for  a  young  lady.  Suzon,  without  the  slightest  suspi- 
cion of  the  little  scamp,  a  thoroughbred  Paris  street-boy  into 
whom  prudence  had  been  rubbed  by  repeated  personal  ex- 
perience of  the  police  courts,  induced  his  master  to  receive 
him.  Can  you  see  the  man  of  business,  with  an  uneasy  eye, 
a  bald  forehead,  and  scarcely  any  hair  on  his  head,  standing 
in  his  threadbare  jacket  and  muddy  shoes " 

"  What  a  picture  of  a  dun  !  "  cried  Lousteau. 

"Standing  before  the  Count,  that  image  of  flaunting  debt, 
in  his  blue  flannel  dressing-gown,  slippers  worked  by  some 
marquise  or  other,  trousers  of  white  woollen  stuff,  and  a  daz- 
zling shirt  ?  There  he  stood,  with  a  gorgeous  cap  on  his 
black  dyed  hair,  playing  with  the  tassels  at  his  waist " 

"  'Tis  a  bit  of  genre  for  anybody  who  knows  the  pretty 
little  morning  room,  hung  with  silk  and  full  of  valuable  paint- 
ings, where  Maxime  breakfasts,"  said  Nathan.  "You  tread 
on  a  Smyrna  carpet,  you  admire  the  sideboards  filled  with 


380  A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

curiosities,  ornaments,  and  rarities  fit  to  make  a  King  of 
Saxony  envious " 

"  Now  for  the  scene  itself,"  said  Desroches,  and  the 
deepest  silence  followed. 

"  '  Monsieur  le  Comte/  began  Cerizet,  '  I  have  come  from 
a  Monsieur  Charles  Claparon,  who  used  to  be  a  banker ' 

"  '  Ah  !  poor  devil,  and  what  does  he  want  with  me  ?  ' 

"  '  Well,  he  is  at  present  your  creditor  for  a  matter  of  three 
thousand  two  hundred  francs,  seventy-five  centimes,  principal, 
interest,  and  costs ' 

"  '  Coutelier's  business  ? '  put  in  Maxime,  who  knew  his 
affairs  as  a  pilot  knows  his  coast. 

"  '  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said  Cerizet  with  a  bow.  '  I 
have  come  to  ask  your  intentions.' 

"'I  shall  only  pay  when  the  fancy  takes  me,'  returned 
Maxime,  and  he  rang  for  Suzon.  '  It  was  very  rash  of 
Claparon  to  buy  up  bills  of  mine  without  speaking  to  me  be- 
forehand. I  am  sorry  for  him,  for  he  did  so  very  well  for 
such  a  long  time  as  a  man  of  straw  for  friends  of  mine.  I 
always  said  that  a  man  must  really  be  weak  in  his  intellect  to 
work  for  men  that  stuff  themselves  with  millions,  and  to  serve 
them  so  faithfully  for  such  low  wages.  And  now  here  he 
gives  me  another  proof  of  his  stupidity !  Yes,  men  deserve 
what  they  get.  It  is  your  own  doing  whether  you  get  a 
crown  on  your  forehead  or  a  bullet  through  your  head ; 
whether  you  are  a  millionaire  or  a  porter,  justice  is  always 
done  you.  I  cannot  help  it,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  myself  am 
not  a  king,  I  stick  to  my  principles.  I  have  no  pity  for  those 
that  put  me  to  expense  or  do  not  know  their  business  as 
creditors.  Suzon  !  my  tea  !  Do  you  see  this  gentleman  ?  ' 
he  continued  when  the  man  came  in.  '  Well,  you  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  taken  in,  poor  old  boy.  This  gentle- 
man is  a  creditor  ;  you  ought  to  have  known  him  by  his  shoes. 
No  friend  nor  foe  of  mine,  nor  those  that  are  neither  and 
want  something  of  me,  come  to  see  me  on  foot.  My  dear 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  381 

Monsieur  Cerizet,  do  you  understand  ?  You  will  not  wipe 
your  shoes  on  my  carpet  again  '  (looking  as  he  spoke  at  the 
mud  that  whitened  the  enemy's  soles).  '  Convey  my  compli- 
ments and  sympathy  to  Claparon,  poor  buffer,  for  I  shall  file 
this  business  under  the  letter  Z.' 

"  All  this  with  an  easy  good-humor  fit  to  give  a  virtuous 
citizen  the  colic. 

"  'You  are  wrong,  Monsieur  le  Comte,'  retorted  Cerizet,  in 
a  slightly  peremptory  tone.  '  We  shall  be  paid  in  full,  and 
that  in  a  way  which  you  may  not  like.  That  was  why  I 
came  to  you  first  in  a  friendly  spirit,  as  is  right  and  fit  be- 
tween gentlemen ' 

"  *  Oh  !  so  that  is  how  you  understand  it  ?  '  began  Maxime, 
enraged  by  this  last  piece  of  presumption.  There  was  some- 
thing of  Talleyrand's  wit  in  the  insolent  retort,  if  you  have 
quite  grasped  the  contrast  between  the  two  men  and  their  cos- 
tumes. Maxime  scowled  and  looked  full  at  the  intruder; 
Cerizet  not  merely  endured  the  glare  of  cold  fury,  but  even 
returned  it,  with  an  icy,  cat-like  malignance  and  fixity  of 
gaze. 

"  '  Very  good,  sir,  go  out ' 

"  'Very  well,  good-day,  Monsieur  le  Comte.  We  shall  be 
quits  before  six  months  are  out.' 

"  '  If  you  can  steal  the  amount  of  your  bill,  which  is  legally 
due  I  own,  I  shall  be  indebted  to  you,  sir,'  replied  Maxime. 
'  You  will  have  taught  me  a  new  precaution  to  take.  I  am 
very  much  your  servant.' 

"  'Monsieur  le  Comte,'  said  Cerizet,  'it  is  I,  on  the  con- 
trary, who  am  yours.' 

"  Here  was  an  explicit,  forcible,  confident  declaration  on 
either  side.  A  couple  of  tigers  confabulating,  with  the  prey 
before  them  and  a  fight  impending,  would  have  been  no  finer 
and  no  shrewder  than  this  pair  ;  the  insolent  fine  gentleman 
as  great  a  blackguard  as  the  other  in  his  soiled  and  mud- 
stained  clothes. 


382  A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

"Which  will  you  lay  your  money  on?"  asked  Desroches, 
looking  round  at  an  audience,  surprised  to  find  how  deeply  it 
was  interested. 

"A  pretty  story  !  "  cried  Malaga.  "  My  dear  boy,  go  on, 
I  beg  of  you.  This  goes  to  one's  heart." 

"  Nothing  commonplace  could  happen  between  two  fight- 
ing-cocks of  that  calibre,"  added  La  Palferine. 

"  Pooh  !  "  cried  Malaga,  "  I  will  wager  my  cabinet-maker's 
invoice  (the  fellow  is  dunning  me)  that  the  little  toad  was  too 
many  for  Maxime." 

"I  bet  on  Maxime,"  said  Cardot.  "  Nobody  ever  caught 
him  napping." 

Desroches  drank  off  a  glass  that  Malaga  handed  to  him. 

"Mademoiselle  Chocardelle's  reading-room,"  he  continued, 
after  a  pause,  "  was  in  the  Rue  Coquenard,  just  a  step  or  two 
from  the  Rue  Pigalle  where  Maxime  was  living.  The  said 
Chocardelle  lived  at  the  back  on  the  garden-side  of  the  house, 
beyond  a  big,  dark  place  where  the  books  were  kept.  Antonia 
left  her  aunt  to  look  after  the  business " 

"  Had  she  an  aunt  even  then  ?  "  exclaimed  Malaga.  "  Hang 
it  all,  Maxime  did  things  handsomely." 

'  'Alas !  it  was  a  real  aunt, ' '  said  Desroches ;  ' '  her  name  was — 
let  me  see " 

"  Ida  Bonamy,"  said  Bixiou. 

"  So  as  Antonia's  aunt  took  a  good  deal  of  the  work  off  her 
hands,  she  went  to  bed  late  and  lay  late  of  a  morning,  never 
showing  her  face  at  the  desk  until  the  afternoon,  some  time 
between  two  and  four.  From  the  very  first  her  appearance 
was  enough  to  draw  custom.  Several  elderly  men  in  the 
quarter  used  to  come,  among  them  a  retired  coach-builder, 
one  Croizeau.  Beholding  this  miracle  of  female  loveliness 
through  the  window-panes,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  read 
the  newspapers  in  the  beauty's  reading-room  ;  and  a  some- 
time custom-house  officer,  named  Denisart,  with  a  ribbon  in 
his  button-hole,  followed  the  example.  Croizeau  chose  to  look 


A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  383 

upon  Denisart  as  a  rival.  'Mosieur*  he  said  afterward,  '  I 
did  not  know  what  to  buy  for  you  ! ' 

"  That  speech  should  give  you  an  idea  of  the  man.  The 
Sieur  Croizeau  happens  to  belong  to  a  particular  class  of  old 
man  which  should  be  known  as  '  Coquerels '  since  Henri 
Monnier's  time ;  so  well  did  Monnier  render  the  piping 
voice,  the  little  mannerisms,  little  queue,  little  sprinkling  of 
powder,  little  movements  of  the  head,  prim  little  manner, 
and  tripping  gait  in  the  part  of  Coquerel  in  '  La  Famille 
Improvise^.'  This  Croizeau  used  to  hand  over  his  halfpence 
with  a  flourish  and  a  *  There,  fair  lady  ! ' 

"  Madame  Ida  Bonamy  the  aunt  was  not  long  in  finding 
out  through  the  servant  that  Croizeau,  by  popular  report  of 
the  neighborhood  of  the  Rue  de  Buffault,  where  he  lived,  was 
a  man  of  exceeding  stinginess,  possessed  of  forty  thousand 
francs  per  annum.  A  week  after  the  installment  of  the  charm- 
ing librarian  he  was  delivered  of  a  pun — 

"  'You  lend  me  books  (Itvres*},  but  I  give  you  plenty  of 
francs  in  return,'  he  said. 

"  A  few  days  later  he  put  on  a  knowing  little  air,  as  much 
as  to  say,  '  I  know  you  are  engaged,  but  my  turn  will  come 
one  day  ;  I  am  a  widower. ' 

"  He  always  came  arrayed  in  fine  linen,  a  cornflower  blue 
coat,  a  paduasoy  waistcoat,  black  trousers,  and  black  ribbon 
bows  on  the  double-soled  shoes  that  creaked  like  an  abbe's ; 
he  always  held  a  fourteen-franc  silk  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  'I  am  old  and  I  have  no  children,'  he  took  occasion  to 
confide  to  the  young  lady  some  few  days  after  Cerizet's  visit  to 
Maxime.  '  I  hold  my  relations  in  horror.  They  are  peasants 
born  to  work  in  the  fields.  Just  imagine  it,  I  came  up  from 
the  country  with  six  francs  in  my  pocket,  and  made  my  fortune 
here.  I  am  not  proud.  A  pretty  woman  is  my  equal.  Now 
would  it  not  be  nicer  to  be  Madame  Croizeau  for  some  years 
to  come  than  to  do  a  Count's  pleasure  for  a  twelvemonth  ? 

*  Livre  :  masculine,  book  ;  feminine,  franc. 


384  A   MAN  OF  BUSfNESS. 

He  will  go  off  and  leave  you  some  time  or  other ;  and  when 
that  day  comes,  you  will  think  of  me — your  servant,  my 
pretty  lady  !  ' 

"All  this  was  simmering  below  the  surface.  The  slightest 
approach  at  love-making  was  made  quite  on  the  sly.  Not  a 
soul  suspected  that  the  trim  little  old  fogey  was  smitten  with 
Antonia ;  and  so  prudent  was  the  elderly  lover,  that  no  rival 
could  have  guessed  anything  from  his  behavior  in  the  reading- 
room.  For  a  couple  of  months  Croizeau  watched  the  retired 
custom-house  official ;  but  before  the  third  month  was  out  he 
had  good  reason  to  believe  that  his  suspicions  were  groundless. 
He  exerted  his  ingenuity  to  scrape  an  acquaintance  with 
Denisart,  came  up  with  him  in  the  street,  and  at  length  seized 
his  opportunity  to  remark,  '  It  is  a  fine  day,  sir !  ' 

"Whereupon  the  retired  official  responded  with,  '  Austerlitz 
weather,  sir.  I  was  there  myself — I  was  wounded  indeed ;  I 
won  my  cross  on  that  glorious  day.' 

"  And  so  from  one  thing  to  another  the  two  drifted  wrecks 
of  the  empire  struck  up  an  acquaintance.  Little  Croizeau 
was  attached  to  the  empire  through  his  connection  with 
Napoleon's  sisters.  He  had  been  their  coach-builder,  and 
had  frequently  dunned  them  for  money ;  so  he  gave  out  that 
he  'had  had  relations  with  the  imperial  family.'  Maxime, 
duly  informed  by  Antonia  of  the  '  nice  old  man's  '  proposals 
(for  so  the  aunt  called  Croizeau),  wished  to  see  him.  Cerizet's 
declaration  of  war  had  so  far  taken  effect  that  he  of  the  yellow 
kid  gloves  was  studying  the  position  of  every  piece,  however 
insignificant,  upon  the  board  ;  and  it  so  happened  that  at  the 
mention  of  that  '  nice  old  man,'  an  ominous  tinkling  sounded 
in  his  ears.  One  evening,  therefore,  Maxime  seated  himself 
among  the  bookshelves  in  the  dimly  lighted  back  room, 
reconnoitred  the  seven  or  eight  customers  through  the  chink 
between  the  green  curtains,  and  took  the  little  coach-builder's 
measure.  He  gauged  the  man's  infatuation,  and  was  very 
well  satisfied  to  find  that  the  varnished  doors  of  a  tolerably 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  385 

sumptuous  future  were  ready  to  turn  at  a  word  from  Antonia 
so  soon  as  his  own  fancy  had  passed  off. 

"  'And  that  other  one  yonder? '  he  asked,  pointing  out  the 
stout,  fine-looking  elderly  man  with  the  cross  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor.  'Who  is  he?' 

"  'A  retired  custom-house  officer.' 

"  '  The  cut  of  his  countenance  is  not  reassuring,'  said 
Maxime,  beholding  the  Sieur  Denisart. 

"And,  indeed,  the  old  soldier  held  himself  upright  as  a 
steeple.  His  head  was  remarkable  for  the  amount  of  powder 
and  pomatum  bestowed  upon  it ;  he  looked  almost  like  a 
postillion  at  a  fancy  ball.  Underneath  that  felted  covering, 
moulded  to  the  top  of  the  wearer's  cranium,  appeared  an 
elderly  profile,  half-official,  half-soldierly,  with  a  comical  ad- 
mixture of  arrogance,  altogether  something  like  caricatures  of 
the  'Constitutionnel.'  The  sometime  official  finding  that 
age,  and  hair-powder,  and  the  conformation  of  his  spine  made 
it  impossible  to  read  a  word  without  spectacles,  sat  dis- 
playing a  very  creditable  expanse  of  chest  with  all  the  pride 
of  an  old  man  with  a  mistress.  Like  old  General  Montcornet, 
that  pillar  of  the  Vaudeville,  he  wore  ear-rings.  Denisart  was 
partial  to  blue ;  his  roomy  trousers  and  well-worn  great-coat 
were  both  of  blue  cloth. 

"  *  How  long  is  it  since  that  old  fogey  came  here  ? '  inquired 
Maxime,  thinking  that  he  saw  danger  in  the  spectacles. 

"'Oh,  from  the  beginning,'  returned  Antonia,  'pretty 
nearly  two  months  ago  now.' 

"  'Good,'  said  Maxime  to  himself,  '  Cerizet  only  came  to 
me  a  month  ago.  Just  get  him  to  talk,'  he  added  in  An- 
tonia's  ear  ;  '  I  want  to  hear  his  voice.' 

"  'Pshaw,'  she  replied,  'that  is  not  so  easy.  He  never 
says  a  word  to  me. ' 

"  'Then  why  does  he  come  here?'  demanded  Maxime. 

"  'For  a  queer  reason,'  returned  the  fair  Antonia.  'In  the 
first  place,  although  he  is  sixty-nine,  he  has  a  fancy ;  and  be- 
25 


386  A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

cause  he  is  sixty-nine,  he  is  as  methodical  as  a  clock-face. 
Every  day  at  five  o'clock  the  old  gentleman  goes  to  dine  with 
her  in  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire.  (I  am  sorry  for  her.)  Then 
at  six  o'clock  he  comes  here,  reads  steadily  at  the  papers  for 
four  hours,  and  goes  back  at  ten  o'clock.  Daddy  Croizeau  says 
that  he  knows  Monsieur  Denisart's  motives,  and  approves  his 
conduct ;  and,  in  his  place,  he  would  do  the  same.  So  I  know 
exactly  what  to  expect.  If  ever  I  am  Madame  Croizeau,  I 
shall  have  four  hours  to  myself  between  six  and  ten  o'clock.' 
"Maxime  looked  through  the  directory  and  found  the  fol- 
lowing reassuring  item : 

"  '  DENISART,  *  retired  custom-house  officer,  Rue  de  la  Victoire.' 

"  His  uneasiness  vanished. 

"Gradually  the  Sieur  Denisart  and  the  Sieur  Croizeau 
began  to  exchange  confidences.  Nothing  so  binds  two  men 
together  as  a  similarity  of  views  in  the  matter  of  womankind. 
Daddy  Croizeau  went  to  dine  with  '  Monsieur  Denisart's  fair 
lady,'  as  he  called  her.  And  here  I  must  make  a  somewhat 
important  observation. 

"The  reading-room  had  been  paid  for  half  in  cash,  half  in 
bills  signed  by  the  said  Mile.  Chocardelle.  The  quart  d°hfure 
de  Rabelais  (Rabelais'  '  instant  of  action  ')  arrived;  the  Count 
had  no  money.  So  the  first  bill  of  three  thousand-franc  bills 
was  met  by  the  amiable  coach-builder;  that  old  scoundrel 
Denisart  having  recommended  him  to  secure  himself  with  a 
mortgage  on  the  reading-room. 

"  'For  my  own  part,'  said  Denisart,  'I  have  seen  pretty 
doings  from  pretty  women.  So,  in  all  cases,  even  when  I 
have  lost  my  head,  I  am  always  on  my  guard  with  a  woman. 
There  is  this  creature,  for  instance ;  I  am  madly  in  love  with 
her ;  but  this  is  not  her  furniture ;  no,  it  belongs  to  me.  The 
lease  is  taken  out  in  my  name.' 

"  You  know  Maxime  !  He  thought  the  coach-builder  un- 
commonly green.  Croizeau  might  pay  all  three  bills,  and  get 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  387 

nothing  for  a  long  while ;  for  Maxime  felt  more  infatuated 
with  Antonia  than  ever." 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  said  La  Palferine.  "She  is  the 
bella  imperia  (imperial  beauty)  of  our  day." 

"With  her  rough  skin?"  exclaimed  Malaga ;  "so  rough, 
that  she  ruins  herself  in  bran  baths?" 

"  Croizeau  spoke  with  a  coach-builder's  admiration  of  the 
sumptuous  furniture  provided  by  the  amorous  Denisart  as  a 
setting  for  his  fair  one,  describing  it  all  in  detail  with  dia- 
bolical complacency  for  Antonia's  benefit,"  continued  Des- 
roches.  "The  ebony  chests  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  and 
gold  wire,  the  Brussels  carpets,  a  mediaeval  bedstead  worth 
three  thousand  francs,  a  boule  clock,  candelabra  in  the  four 
corners  of  the  dining-room,  silk  curtains,  on  which  Chinese 
patience  had  wrought  pictures  of  birds,  and  hangings  over  the 
doors,  worth  more  than  the  portress  that  opened  them. 

"'And  that  is  what  you  ought  to  have,  my  pretty  lady. 
And  that  is  what  I  should  like  to  offer  you,'  he  would  con- 
clude. '  I  am  quite  aware  that  you  scarcely  care  a  bit  about 
me ;  but,  at  my  age,  we  cannot  expect  too  much.  Judge  how 
much  I  love  you ;  I  have  lent  you  a  thousand  francs.  I  must 
confess  that,  in  all  my  born  days,  I  have  not  lent  anybody 
thai  much ' 

"  He  held  out  his  penny  as  he  spoke,  with  the  important 
air  of  a  man  that  gives  a  learned  demonstration. 

"  That  same  evening  at  the  Varietes,  Antonia  spoke  to  the 
Count. 

"  '  A  reading-room  is  very  dull,  all  the  same,'  said  she;  'I 
feel  that  I  have  no  sort  of  taste  for  that  kind  of  life,  and  I  see 
no  future  in  it.  It  is  only  fit  for  a  widow  that  wishes  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together,  or  for  some  hideously  ugly  thing  that 
fancies  she  can  catch  a  husband  with  a  little  finery.' 

"  'It  was  your  own  choice,'  returned  the  Count.  Just  at 
that  moment  in  came  Nucingen,  of  whom  Maxime,  king  of 
lions  (the  '  yellow  kid  gloves '  were  the  lions  of  that  day),  had 


388  A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

won  three  thousand  francs  the  evening  before.     Nucingen 
had  come  to  pay  his  gaming  debt. 

"  '  Ein  writ  of  attachment  haf  shoost  peen  served  on  me  by 
der  order  of  dot  teufel  Glabaron,'  he  said,  seeing  Maxime's 
astonishment. 

"  *  Oh,  so  that  is  how  they  are  going  to  work,  is  it  ? '  cried 
Maxime.  '  They  are  not  up  to  much,  that  pair ' 

"  '  It  makes  not,'  said  the  banker,  '  bay  dem,  for  dey  may 
apply  demselfs  to  oders  pesides,  und  do  you  harm.  I  dake 
dees  bretty  voman  to  vitness  dot  I  haf  baid  you  dees  morning, 
long  pefore  dat  writ  was  serfed.'  " 

"Queen  of  the  boards,"  smiled  La  Palferine,  looking  at 
Malaga,  "thou  art  about  to  lose  thy  bet." 

"  Once,  a  long  time  ago,  in  a  similar  case,  resumed  Des- 
roches,  a  too  honest  debtor  took  fright  at  the  idea  of  a  solemn 
declaration  in  a  court  of  law,  and  declined  to  pay  Maxime 
after  notice  was  given.  That  time  we  made  it  hot  for  the 
crditor  by  piling  on  writs  of  attachment,  so  as  to  absorb  the 
whole  amount  in  costs " 

"Oh,  what  is  that?"  cried  Malaga;  "it  all  sounds  like 
gibberish  to  me.  As  you  thought  the  sturgeon  so  excellent  at 
dinner,  let  me  take  out  the  value  of  the  sauce  in  lessons  in 
chicanery. ' ' 

"  Very  well,"  said  Desroches.  "  Suppose  that  a  man  owes 
you  money,  and  your  creditors  serve  a  writ  of  attachment 
upon  him  ;  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  all  your  other  creditors 
from  doing  the  same  thing.  And  now  what  does  the  court 
do  when  all  the  creditors  make  application  for  orders  to  pay  ? 
The  court  divides  the  whole  sum  attached,  proportionately  among 
them  all.  That  division,  made  under  the  eye  of  a  magistrate, 
is  what  we  call  a  contribution.  If  you  owe  ten  thousand 
francs,  and  your  creditors  issue  writs  of  attachment  on  a  debt 
due  to  you  of  a  thousand  francs,  each  one  of  them  gets  so 
much  per  cent.,  'so  much  in  the  franc,'  in  legal  phrase;  so 
much  (that  means)  in  proportion  to  the  amounts  severally 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  389 

claimed  by^  the  creditors.  But — the  creditors  cannot  touch 
the  money  without  a  special  order  from  the  clerk  of  the  court. 
Do  you  guess  what  all  this  work  drawn  up  by  a  judge  and 
prepared  by  attorneys  must  mean  ?  It  means  a  quantity  of 
stamped  paper  full  of  diffuse  lines  and  blanks,  the  figures 
almost  lost  in  vast  spaces  of  completely  empty  ruled  columns. 
The  first  proceeding  is  to  deduct  the  costs.  Now,  as  the 
costs  are  precisely  the  same  whether  the  amount  attached  is 
one  thousand  or  one  million  francs,  it  is  not  difficult  to  eat  up 
three  thousand  francs  (for  instance)  in  costs,  especially  if  you 
can  manage  to  raise  counter-applications." 

"And  an  attorney  always  manages  to  do  it,"  said  Cardot. 
"  How  many  a  time  one  of  you  has  come  to  me  with,  '  What 
is  there  to  be  got  out  of  the  case  ?  ' ' 

"It  is  particularly  easy  to  manage  it  if  the  debtor  eggs  you 
on  to  run  up  costs  till  they  eat  up  the  amount.  And,  as  a 
rule,  the  Count's  creditors  took  nothing  by  that  move,  and 
were  out  of  pocket  in  law  and  personal  expenses.  To  get 
money  out  of  so  experienced  a  debtor  as  the  Count,  a  creditor 
should  really  be  in  a  position  uncommonly  difficult  to  reach  ; 
it  is  a  question  of  being  creditor  and  debtor  both,  for  then 
you  are  legally  entitled  to  work  the  confusion  of  rights,  in  law 
language " 

"  To  the  confusion  of  the  debtor?  "  asked  Malaga,  lending 
an  attentive  ear  to  this  discourse. 

"  No,  the  confusion  of  rights  of  debtor  and  creditor,  and 
pay  yourself  through  your  own  hands.  So  Claparon's  inno- 
cence in  merely  issuing  writs  of  attachment  eased  the  Count's 
mind.  As  he  came  back  from  the  Varietes  with  Antonia,  he 
was  so  much  the  more  taken  with  the  idea  of  selling  the 
reading-room  to  pay  off  the  last  two  thousand  francs  of  the 
purchase-money,  because  he  did  not  care  to  have  his  name 
made  public  as  a  partner  in  such  a  concern.  So  he  adopted 
Antonia's  plan.  Antonia  wished  to  reach  the  higher  ranks 
of  her  calling,  with  splendid  rooms,  a  maid,  and  a  carriage ; 


390  A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

in  short,  she  wanted  to  rival  our  charming  hostess,  for  in- 
stance  " 

"  She  was  not  woman  enough  for  that,"  cried  the  famous 
beauty  of  the  circus;  "still,  she  ruined  young  d'Esgrignon 
very  neatly." 

"Ten  days  afterward,  little  Croizeau,  perched  on  his  dig- 
nity, said  almost  exactly  the  same  thing,  for  the  fair  Antonia's 
benefit,"  continued  Desroches. 

"  '  Child,'  said  he,  '  your  reading-room  is  a  hole  of  a  place. 
You  will  lose  your  complexion  ;  the  gas  will  ruin  your  eye- 
sight. You  ought  to  come  out  of  it ;  and,  look  here,  let  us 
take  advantage  of  an  opportunity.  I  have  found  a  young 
lady  for  you  that  asks  no  better  than  to  buy  your  reading- 
room.  She  is  a  ruined  woman  with  nothing  before  her  but  a 
plunge  into  the  river;  but  she  has  four  thousand  francs  in 
cash,  and  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  turn  them  to  account,  so 
as  to  feed  and  educate  a  couple  of  children.  This  is  the  place 
for  her.' 

"'Very  well.  It  is  kind  of  you,  Daddy  Croizeau,'  said 
Antonia. 

" '  Oh,  I  shall  be  much  kinder  before  I  have  done.  Just 
imagine  it,  poor  Monsieur  Denisart  has  been  worried  into  the 
jaundice !  Yes,  it  has  gone  to  the  liver,  as  it  usually  does 
with  susceptible  old  men.  It  is  a  pity  he  feels  things  so.  I 
told  him  so  myself;  I  said,  "Be  passionate,  there  is  no  harm 
in  that,  but  as  for  taking  things  to  heart — draw  the  line  at 
that !  It  is  the  way  to  kill  yourself."  Really,  I  would  not 
have  expected  him  to  take  on  so  about  it;  a  man  that  has 
sense  enough  and  experience  enough  to  keep  away  as  he  does 
while  he  digests  his  dinner ' 

"'But  what  is  the  matter?'  inquired  Mademoiselle  Cho- 
cardelle. 

"  'That  little  baggage  with  whom  I  dined  has  cleared  out 
and  left  him  !  Yes.  Gave  him  the  slip  without  any  warning 
but  a  letter,  in  which  the  spelling  was  all  to  seek.' 


A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS.  391 

"  '  There,  Daddy  Croizeau,  you  see  what  comes  of  boring  a 
woman ' 

"'It  is  indeed  a  lesson,  my  pretty  lady,'  said  the  guileful 
Croizeau.  '  Meanwhile,  I  have  never  seen  a  man  in  such  a 
state.  Our  friend  Denisart  cannot  tell  his  left  hand  from  his 
right ;  he  will  not  go  back  to  look  at  the  "  scene  of  his  happi- 
ness," as  he  calls  it.  He  has  so  thoroughly  lost  his  wits  that 
he  proposes  that  I  should  buy  all  Hortense's  furniture  (Hor- 
tense  was  her  name)  for  four  thousand  francs.' 

"  *  A  pretty  name,'  said  Antonia. 

"  'Yes.  Napoleon's  step-daughter  was  called  Hortense.  I 
built  carriages  for  her  as  you  know,'  said  the  stricken  ex- 
coach-maker. 

"  '  Very  well,  I  will  see,'  said  cunning  Antonia;  '  begin  by 
sending  this  young  woman  to  me.' 

"  Antonia  hurried  off  to  see  the  furniture,  and  came  back 
fascinated.  She  brought  Maxime  under  the  spell  of  antiqua- 
rian enthusiasm.  That  very  evening  the  Count  agreed  to  the 
sale  of  the  reading-room.  The  establishment,  you  see,  nomi- 
nally belonged  to  Mademoiselle  Chocardelle.  Maxime  burst 
out  laughing  at  the  idea  of  little  Croizeau's  finding  him  a 
buyer.  The  firm  of  Maxime  and  Chocardelle  was  losing  two 
thousand  francs,  it  is  true,  but  what  was  the  loss  compared  with 
four  glorious  thousand-franc  notes  in  hand  ?  '  Four  thousand 
francs  of  live  coin  !  there  are  moments  in  one's  life  when  one 
would  sign  bills  for  eight  thousand  to  get  them,'  as  the  Count 
said  to  me. 

"  Two  days  later  the  Count  must  see  the  furniture  himself, 
and  took  the  four  thousand  francs  upon  him.  The  sale  had 
been  arranged ;  thanks  to  little  Croizeau's  diligence,  he 
pushed  matters  on  ;  he  had  '  come  round  '  the  widow,  as  he 
expressed  it.  It  was  Maxime's  intention  to  have  all  the  furni- 
ture removed  at  once  to  a  lodging  in  a  new  house  in  the  Rue 
Tronchet,  taken  in  the  name  of  Madame  Ida  Bonamy ;  he  did 
not  trouble  himself  much  about  the  nice  old  man  that  was 


392  A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 

about  to  lose  his  thousand  francs.  But  he  had  sent  before- 
hand for  several  big  furniture  vans. 

"  Once  again  he  was  fascinated  by  the  beautiful  furniture 
which  a  wholesale  dealer  would  have  valued  at  six  thousand 
francs.  By  the  fireside  sat  the  wretched  owner,  yellow  with 
jaundice,  his  head  tied  up  in  a  couple  of  printed  handker- 
chiefs, and  a  cotton  night-cap  on  the  top  of  them  ;  he  was 
huddled  up  in  wrappings  like  a  chandelier,  exhausted,  unable 
to  speak,  and  altogether  so  knocked  to  pieces  that  the  Count 
was  obliged  to  transact  his  business  with  the  manservant. 
When  he  had  paid  down  the  four  thousand  francs,  and  the 
servant  had  taken  the  money  to  his  master  for  a  receipt,  Max- 
ime  turned  to  tell  the  man  to  call  up  the  vans  to  the  door  : 
but  even  as  he  spoke,  a  voice  like  a  rattle  sounded  in  his  ears : 

"  '  It  is  not  worth  while,  Monsieur  le  Comte.  You  and  I 
are  quits ;  I  have  six  hundred  and  thirty  francs  fifteen  cen- 
times to  give  you  !  ' 

"To  his  utter  consternation,  he  saw  Cerizet,  emerged  from 
his  wrappings  like  a  butterfly  from  the  chrysalis,  holding  out 
the  accursed  bundle  of  documents. 

" '  When  I  was  down  on  my  luck  I  learned  to  act  on  the 
stage,'  added  Cerizet.  'I  am  as  good  as  Bouffe  at  old  men.' 

"  '  I  have  fallen  among  thieves  !  '  shouted  Maxime. 

"  '  No,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  are  in  Mademoiselle  Hor- 
tense's  house.  She  is  a  friend  of  old  Lord  Dudley's ;  he 
keeps  her  hidden  away  here ;  but  she  has  the  bad  taste  to 
like  your  humble  servant.' 

"  *  If  ever  I  longed  to  kill  a  man,'  so  the  Count  told  me 
afterward,  '  it  was  at  that  moment ;  but  what  could  one  do  ? 
Hortense  showed  her  pretty  face,  one  had  to  laugh.  To  keep 
my  dignity,  I  flung  her  the  six  hundred  francs.  "  There's  for 
the  girl,"  I  said.'  " 

"  That  is  Maxime  all  over  !  "  cried  La  Palferine. 

"  More  especially  as  it  was  little  Croizeau's  money,"  added 
Cardot  the  profound. 


A   MAN  OF  BUSINESS. 


393 


"Maxime  scored  a  trump,"  continued  Desroches,  "for 
Hortense  exclaimed,  '  Oh  !  if  I  had  only  known  that  it  was 
you.'  " 

"A  pretty  '  confusion  '  indeed  !  "  put  in  Malaga.  "You 
have  lost,  milord,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  notary. 

And  in  this  way  the  cabinet-maker,  to  whom  Malaga  owed 
a  hundred  crowns,  was  paid. 

PARIS,  1845. 


11CSB    LIBKAHY 
X 


A     000  525  457 


I 


